A Life Less Ordinary
by lotusflower85
Summary: "They'd saved the King, but had they saved England?" An alternate season 3 featuring the Outlaws, Marian, Carter, Guy and the Shreiff - canon pairings.
1. Prologue

**Prologue**

"_I am going to marry Robin Hood. I love Robin Hood."_

_She said the words, and the world shrank in around her. Guy, the King and her predicament was forgotten as she realised, perhaps for the first time, the truth in what she had spoken. She laughed at herself. _

"_I love Robin Hood."_

_She loved him. Passionately, unconditionally – desperately. She no longer had any doubts._

_At first she only felt a sharp pain, not realising what had happened until Guy pulled her into his arms, and she felt the cold steel of his sword tear through her. _

_She looked up at him, at first confused – because her mind had been so far away - and then triumphant, as she realised she had succeeded. In Guy's eyes she saw such pain – it was the look of a man breaking inside. He could not move on to kill the King – she had made sure of that. She had won. _

_Marian held his gaze until she could no longer keep her feet, and crumpled to the sand below. _

* * *

Four.

It did not seem like a great deal less than six, but it felt it. Much was eager to leave the Holy Land as quickly as possible, and had been relieved to see the white sands disappear beyond the horizon as they began their journey back to England. But with the distance came the longing. Much missed Will and Djaq – he had even been sorry to leave Carter, still convalescing from his wounds, back in Acre. The four of them seemed a pitiful band, a sum of parts rather than a whole. A part of Much knew that they could never really be whole again, with the loss of Marian having a devastating impact on their morale.

Much was ready to intervene should anyone (in other words, Allan) try and throw Robin's earlier words back at him and say that Marian had died for England. But he didn't. If anything, Allan seemed just as upset as the rest of them.

But Much's focus remained on Robin, and did not intend to pry into whatever anguish Allan may have felt over Marian's death. Much could barely let himself feel his own grief, such was his concern over Robin's state of mind. His master didn't cry – didn't rage at the injustice of it all - and it was that lack of emotion that scared Much the most. He kept a constant watch on him, for the fear, however irrational, that Robin might do something to hurt himself. But he didn't do anything. He barely even spoke to any of them, and retreated behind a wall of cool indifference.

At night Much stayed awake to watch Robin sleep – just in case – and often found his mind wandering. He didn't want to consider what they would do once they got back to England. The journey had seemed so long, and they had lost so much. They had saved the King, but had they saved England?

So Much turned his mind to what should have been pleasanter thoughts, although somehow they seemed just as painful. He dreamed of honey-coloured hair and a sweet, lilting voice raised in song. He remembered his promise. _When there is justice again, I will come find you_.

But in a world where Marian could die, Much didn't quite believe there could ever be justice again.

* * *

The passage back to England was rough, but the Sheriff had made it clear he felt no desire to linger in Palestine, and so had forced them onto the first available boat. Guy had not had the strength to argue with him.

His mind kept going back to the crushing moment he realised his life for the past two years had been a lie.

_I love Robin Hood._

Guy had poured his very essence into pursuing her, at first to catch her as a prize, to obtain the last thing Locksley held dear, but it had long since become more than a means of one-upmanship with the outlaw. He had fallen in love with her, and every time she disappointed him – leaving him at the altar, refusing his invitations of marriage, being discovered as the Nightwatchman – it had only made him want her more. To discover that she had loved and fought for _him_ the entire time – it was more than Guy's heart could handle.

He had wanted to take her in his arms and shake her – shake every thought of Robin Hood out of her mind – make her see sense. But his sword had been there, in his hand, and once it had pierced her flesh, his anger had made it all too easy for him to force it through her completely. Only then, had he realised what he'd done. He had tightened his grip on Marian once too many, and in doing so she had slipped through his fingers again, this time for good.

And then there was Vaysey, whose brutal anger at their failure to kill the King was only tempered by his gloating over the means of Marian's death. But the Sheriff's pride in Guy's actions actually disgusted him. Finally, he had broken through and gained the Vaysey's trust, but the victory seemed hollow. Meaningless.

In his mind was a constant montage of all the moments Marian had deceived him. He saw with sickening clarity all the times he should have seen through her act and guessed her true allegiances. He remembered the time the Nightwatchman had distracted them as Hood had dangled over that snake pit – and therefore provided him a means of escape – or when Hood and his gang had come to the Nightwatchman's rescue in Locksley, or the countless other occasions she had proved to be in league with Hood. When he'd unmasked her, he should have remembered.

And when he had told her of Hood's birthday – he had known then, or at least suspected, the true nature of her feelings. Allan had all but confirmed it for him in the tavern on the way to Portsmouth. But he had chosen to look away – he had been foolish. He had built her up as his idol in silver and gold, and dazzled by the beauty of it, had refused to see her feet of clay.

It was a mistake he would pay for the rest of his life, because his prediction outside Nottingham gates had come true. His world was ash.

* * *

In Bassam's house, Djaq chose the brightest silks and cloths to wrap around her head, but what once had been a habit had become foreign to her. The last time she had covered her head in such a way, she had been Saffiya. But she did it without complaint, and did not ask her friend to call her Djaq. It was only how she thought of herself, and what Will called her, like it was a secret between the two of them, a private code. The thought made her smile.

Will had adapted to life in Acre far better than she had expected. He didn't seem to mind adhering to customs that were strange to him, or the suspicion that greeted him in the marketplace, or that he only found acceptance in Bassam's house. If it bothered him at all, he didn't show it – and Djaq had always been able to read him well, and did not believe he was putting on a front for her sake. His love for her was enough – nothing else seemed to matter to him, and although she was certain he missed their friends, he did not pine. But strangely enough, she did.

In Sherwood, Djaq had missed the hot, spiced air of her homeland, the vast expanse of sand and the camaraderie of her own people. But now that she had returned, ostensibly for good, she found herself missing Little John's silent solidarity, Much's warm affection, Robin's horrible jokes and Allan's...well, she missed almost everything about Allan. She regretted that they had not had the chance to speak properly before they left. It hadn't seemed like the right moment – and Djaq thought back to the long months of travel when she had avoided him, not wishing to dwell on old issues. The entire situation seemed unresolved.

But even more problematic, were those doubts that burned in the back of her mind – questioning the path her life had taken. In Nottingham she had felt a sense of purpose – she had been helping people. In Acre, there was much need, but no way for her to effect change. In the forest, her outlaws had seen her as an equal, in Acre she felt the sting of her expected place in society. She had to learn to live inside the law, and it was not a comfortable place.

Somehow, re-learning to live in her homeland seemed harder than adapting to live in England. She only hoped Will's eternal optimism would win out – and that their love would be enough. As a slave she had learnt hope was often a futile and meaningless thing. But perhaps Will had enough hope for both of them.

* * *

They were only a few weeks into their journey when the silence began to drive Allan mad. Robin walked around like a dead man, with Much flittering about him like a hummingbird, making sure he ate and didn't wander off alone. No one wanted to talk about Marian, except Allan. He _needed_ to talk about her. He wanted to tell Robin about her life in the castle, the small details he had noticed, the conversations they'd had. He imagined such insights may bring the man some comfort, and Allan knew it would ease his own mind to speak of them. But Much watched him warily, as if expecting such an action, and seemed eternally prepared to ward him off.

There was only one other person left to talk to. So one night, Allan took a seat beside Little John. "Don't think we've ever really talked, you and me," he said to him, characteristic half-grin on his face.

Despite Will's harsh comments about blood money, Djaq's pitying stare and Robin's attempt on his life, somehow, it had been John's venomous accusation – _traito_r - that had hurt him the most. Perhaps because he had meant it so much more than the others. Will had felt betrayed, Djaq disappointed, Robin had demonstrated his usual self-righteous anger, and well, Much had never really liked him to begin with. But John had _hated _him. And while the others had been rather quick to accept him back into the fold, jokes and jibes at his expense aside, John had remained aloof.

"Then talk." John answered, and it was clear he had no intention of being a willing participant. It was not John's way. It was then that Allan found himself missed Will and Djaq the most.

But they were gone. _Like rats deserting a sinking ship_, Allan found himself thinking unkindly. Djaq had always been the clever one – had she seen the dullness in Robin's eyes and known that he may never be able to lead them again? He wondered what the point of him leaving Gisborne's employ had been – and then Allan remembered the emptiness he had felt in the castle. Guy may have come to respect him, but it had never been close to the companionship he had felt with the outlaws – how he had ever valued gold over that he didn't know. But there was no more laughter among them, no life.

But Allan had made his choice, and if that meant he drowned along with the rest of them, then so be it.

* * *

_She did not remember who she was. At first, all she knew was darkness. She dwelled there, and wondered if it was purgatory. But there was no pain, no devil awaiting her, no judgement. There was nothing for a long time. But then – slowly - snatches of memory began to come back to her._

_She remembered the soft hands of her mother – a faint scent of lavender, and whispered words telling her to always be strong, and to always stand tall. _

_She remembered being held in her father's arms after she'd been thrown from her horse – she remembered holding him in hers as he died. _

_She remembered a golden summer, and the boy from the neighbouring estate who brought her flowers and stole kisses from her in the moonlight._

_She remembered locking herself in her room after he left and emerging three days later, eyes dry and heart hardened, vowing to never cry over him again._

_She remembered trysts in the forest, hurried and urgent, because they could never fully isolate themselves from the world, and their responsibilities. _

_She remembered her confusion – the man who lingered on her periphery, showing a glint of humanity amidst the blackness of his soul that she wanted to save, and yet had exploited. _

_She didn't remember dying – but she remembered his face, the ring on her finger, her mouth speaking the vows. Then there had been nothing. Not even peace. _

_She spent what seemed like an age in the darkness, and then, finally, she heard voices, unfamiliar and intelligible, but gradually rousing her sleeping soul. She clung to them – clung to life, and clawed her way back, the gaps in her memory becoming clearer, the sounds louder and the feelings stronger. She felt pain – and then she remembered her name. _

Marian Fitzwalter opened her eyes, and breathed_. _


	2. Chapter 1: Phoenix

Thank you to all who reviewed! Re: Fitzwalter - it is the last name commonly given to Marian in the legends. Since it is never stated in the show, I thought I would stick with tradition.

* * *

**Chapter One: Phoenix**

**- - - **

It was hot. And bright.

Marian blinked several times as the world slowly came into focus. The ceiling above her was patterned – swirls of blue and green against a white background – utterly unfamiliar to her. She tried to sit up but a sharp pain went through her side and she fell back against her sleeping mat. It was surprising comfortable, she realised, soft pillows and sheets, unlike the coarse material she had slept on while being held prisoner by the Sheriff.

_The Sheriff – Guy – the King – Robin._ Her mind was filled with memories and thoughts that she couldn't quite deal with yet. First, she had to find out what had happened – or more pressingly, where she was.

Marian gingerly turned her neck, to try and get a better view of the room she was in. It was undoubtedly Saracen, that much she could decipher from the decor. Well, that and the Saracen woman kneeling beside a table, crushing herbs and speaking lowly in Arabic. It was difficult to gauge the woman's age, although Marian could see grey hair peeking out from under the scarf she wore over her head, and the lines around her mouth as she muttered the strange words to herself. Then, as if becoming aware of being watched, she turned towards Marian.

"So, the lady awakens." The woman smiled at her shocked expression. "Are you surprised I can speak your tongue? It was not difficult to learn, after years of dealing with your people."

"My people?" Marian was a little confused.

"Your pale skin – like your Crusaders. You come from across the seas."

"England," Marian confirmed, unsure of what else to say.

The woman shrugged. "It really makes no difference to me." She crossed the room and knelt by Marian's bedside. "Drink this." She held a small bowl to Marian's lips with a foul-smelling concoction in it. Marian drank obediently, for her mouth was parched. It did not taste as bad as it smelled, and it made her feel calmer.

"Thank you." Marian lay back down again, exhausted. "How long..."

"Many weeks," the woman replied sombrely.

Marian closed her eyes. Robin and his gang would have already left for England, she was sure of it. He would not have wanted to linger, thinking her dead. But she pushed that thought from her mind – she would deal with it later, when she could actually do something about it. It was clear she would not be getting up from her bed for a while yet. Marian pressed her hand against her belly.

"How did I survive?"

"It was not easy for me to keep you alive," the woman explained. "There was many a time you were close to death, and even with all my knowledge I believed you lost." She smiled fondly down at Marian. "But you have something within you – a strength to keep fighting."

She remembered fighting against the darkness, against the death. "But, how - "

"Hush, now." The woman pushed Marian's hair back from her forehead. "You need to rest, you are not out of danger yet."

There were so many questions she wanted to ask, but there was one thing she needed to know. "Who are you? Why are you helping me?"

The woman smiled mysteriously. "My name is Amineh. I am known as something of a healer to people around here. You were brought to me because of this."

"But why? People from my country are trying to invade you."

"When someone is injured they can do no harm." Amineh looked at her keenly. "And I saw the way you were fighting for life. It impressed me..." She looked at her expectantly.

"Marian," she replied.

"Well, Marian. Allah sent you back for a reason – he must have work for you to do."

Marian opened her mouth to remind her that she didn't believe in the Saracen God, but closed it again almost immediately. It would be rude, after all, to insult the woman's beliefs after she had cared for her so well. And she remembered what Robin had said once, just after Djaq had joined their gang and Marian had questioned him accepting someone from a people he used to fight against. Robin had smiled – not his usual cocky grin – but soft, and thoughtful. He'd said that he wasn't sure they weren't the same God after all – that perhaps they just chose to worship Him in different ways. This had been the same Robin who'd been so intent on the cause of the Holy War before he left – for whom biblical study were the only lessons he'd paid attention to as a child.

"Yes," Amineh nodded, almost as if she could tell what Marian was thinking. "Rest, now. There will be times for thoughts and explanations later." She stood and slowly walked out of the room, leaving Marian alone.

She wanted to think things over, to try and properly understand her situation, but was beginning to feel drowsy again, and could not hold onto her thoughts. She closed her eyes, and willingly drifted back to sleep, promising herself that when she woke up she would find out what had happened to her, and why.

* * *

When their gang of four arrived back at camp in Sherwood forest, there was little else they felt like doing but sleep, although none of them but John managed to do that very well. Robin wandered off into the forest after a few minutes, and Much was torn between following him, or leaving him to his thoughts. He noticed Allan was also wide awake, although he seemed preoccupied with the camp itself.

"It's strange being back here," Allan said finally. "All I can think..." he continued, seemingly troubled. "All I can think is that before us, Marian was the last person in this camp. She went off to find you all – said the place was empty, and we never came back here after the barn. So...she was the last."

Much nodded, feeling his own heart constrict. _Marian_.

He needed to find Robin – tell him what he had been avoiding saying for the long journey back to England. But it had to be said, or else the guilt would destroy him. Much stood, and walked in the direction Robin had gone, ignoring Allan calling after him.

Robin was found not too far from the camp, seated against a tree, his head resting back against the trunk, face void of any emotion. Much took a seat beside him.

"At first light we should visit all the villages – make sure they're alright." Robin spoke up, swallowing heavily. "I feel like we have abandoned them."

"We were saving the King," Much pointed out, trying to give a reassurance that he did not necessarily feel. But it was important, he knew, for Robin to feel that it had been worthwhile.

"I've had a long time to think about it, Much," he said sadly. "I told Richard that he'd forgotten his people. I was angry at him for it, when I should have been angry at myself for doing the same thing. And all of you had been trying to tell me that, and I wouldn't listen. And now that we're back I won't make the same mistake." He fixed Much with a resolute gaze. "We look after our people, that is our first priority."

"I...I think that is a good plan, Master," Much agreed, relieved, for there finally was a spark of life in Robin again. A sense of purpose. But he still needed to speak. "Master...I need to tell you something."

Robin looked guilty. "I know I haven't been myself since...but I'm trying - "

"No," Much cut him off, "it's not about that, it's..." He sighed heavily. "This is hard." He looked upward, perhaps for divine inspiration for the right words, before he remembered that his faith had long been shattered, and he no longer trusted in God for guidance. "I have a confession to make."

Robin looked at him curiously. "Go on," he urged him.

"Your birthday party – in the barn, you remember?"

"Of course."

"Well..." Much struggled to find the right words, before deciding that whichever ones he used would cause the same result. "There's a reason why Marian couldn't find us. I didn't tell her. I should have, really. I'd even seen her earlier that week, and she'd asked me if we were going to celebrate your birthday, that it would be nice to see us all again. But I lied, and said no, we were far too busy." The words fell out of his mouth in a mad rush.

"Much, I'm not sure where you're going with this." Robin already looked pained at the mention of Marian's name, and clearly did not want him to continue. But Much had to unload the burden, even if it lost him Robin's friendship.

"I told myself that it was too dangerous for her, you know, to get her out of the castle without being detected...but the truth is..." Much took a deep breath, and steeled himself. "The truth is, I didn't want her there," he pressed on. "Because when she'd been in the forest, it had been all about the two of you...because you listened to her opinion without question, and your thoughts were all for her. I suppose...I just wanted it to be us again. The gang." Much's voice cracked slightly with the emotion of his words, and hot tears formed behind his eyes, for his wounded pride, his shame, and his guilt. "And all I can think is if I hadn't been so selfish and invited her along, then she never would have tried to kill the Sherriff and gotten captured. She would have escaped with us and...she could be alive now."

Much turned to Robin, waiting for the justice to be served to him. He felt it fitting, really, his jealousy had made him want to keep Robin to himself, and in doing so he had probably lost his friendship for good. But Robin did not appear angry, in fact, he sat very still and silently. "Master?" he asked, looking for a reaction.

"Don't," Robin cut him off harshly, and when he looked up, there was a torrent of emotions swirling in his blue eyes. "Don't call me Master." Robin shook his head. "I don't ever want to hear you call me that again." Robin bowed his head again, and all his anger seemed to dissipate. "I don't deserve it." For a long time there was silence, as Much did not know how to take Robin's reaction. So instead he watched him clench and unclench his jaw, waiting. Eventually, Robin began to speak.

"There are a million ways we could have saved her," he said softly. "Don't you think I've gone through every scenario in my head? All these possibilities - but that's not what happened, and we can't change it now. She's gone." Robin's voice broke on those words, but he took a deep breath. "And I don't ever want you feeling guilty for what are my mistakes, Much, and don't try to argue with me," he cut him off before Much could protest. "I drove you away, I didn't treat you like you are worthy – as you should be treated. As a friend, a brother...as more than I deserve. So please don't call me Master ever again."

"Robin..." Much's heart ached, happy to finally hear praise from Robin's lips, and yet agonising to see him so torn apart inside by it. He seemed on the very verge of collapse.

"And it took her death to make me see everything clearly. Too clearly." Robin brushed the back of his hand harshly against his eyes, where Much could see tears were beginning to escape. There was nothing else to do. Much pulled his friend into an embrace as the dam broke, and Robin sobbed into his shoulder as Much rocked him gently. It was the first time Robin had cried since the Holy Land, the first time he'd let anyone try and comfort him. And Much held him tighter, knowing that this was the worst Robin would get, and while it would cause him the most pain now, it meant the healing process had started.

It finally felt like they were moving on.

* * *

In the shadows of his war room, Vaysey waited. He glared at his map of the England, which had borne the brunt of his rage when he'd first returned to Nottingham castle. The small figures and flags that had been positioned in the Holy Land lay askew on the floor, and the entire region pounded to dust. All that remained was England, and his Black Knights situated across the country.

The mercenaries had long gone with the money he'd taxed the country to pay for. His vaults were empty. The Knights were already sending messengers asking why he had failed, worried that they would all be caught, wishing to back out of the entire plan. He'd killed every messenger and sent their heads back to their lords, as a warning. They could not back out.

For Vaysey would not give up. He could bide his time, even when the odds had turned against him. It wouldn't be the first time he'd had to start again from nothing.

The people, of course, had heard that Robin Hood had returned to them, and were once again filled with hope. Which was fine, in Vaysey's opinion. To give the maggots hope and then crush it out of them made it all so much more entertaining. He didn't expect that Hood would pose him a great a threat as he did before – he may have won the battle in Acre, but as Vaysey told him, _he_ would have England. That was his goal, and ultimately, why he would win. He was not bound by earthly, base desires as Hood was – he would never be compromised by a servant, or follower, or woman.

That point still irritated him. He'd always known Marian to be a manipulative little madam – but he'd never twigged to her true allegiances. He'd underestimated her – he who had always prided himself of being able to read people, guess their true intentions, coerce them into revealing their weaknesses. He'd never seen that hers had been Hood, until the end. It bothered him that she'd been able to pull the wool over his eyes, and so successfully, for so long. But she was dead, repaid in spades her manipulation of Gisborne. He was actually quite proud of his protégé – Vaysey wouldn't have thought he'd had it in him. Perhaps now, he could mould him into something more like himself – above such twaddle as love or compassion. He could build a new Gisbourne, now that Marian had crushed his heart. He almost thought of her fondly, for giving him that gift – to think of how much she would have hated _that_. It made him somewhat happier.

For Vaysey had a new plan. Already work was underway beneath Nottingham castle – workers were moving dirt and bringing in stone – digging in the earth, shaping the first step in his victory. In the dark underneath the castle his dream would be reborn.

And everything would be his.


	3. Chapter 2: Honour Among Thieves

**Chapter 2: Honour Among Thieves**

Carter walked through the streets of Acre trying not to arouse suspicion; keeping a cowl wrapped around his face and head to disguise his obviously Saxon features. It was close to midday when Carter reached Bassam's house, and he rapped smartly on the door. The old man answered, and gave him a wary look. Carter lowered the cloth from his face and flashed him a smile, but Bassam seemed less than impressed, although he quickly ushered him inside.

Will and Djaq were tending to the pigeons, a sight that made Carter smile. They both seemed so content with tending to the small birds that cooed blissfully in their enclosures. He couldn't help but wonder, however, how long their peace would last. He knew that while he longed for his fighting days to be over, there would always be a part of him that would long for the thrill and excitement of a warrior's life. Will, perhaps, would ease back into domesticity easy enough. But Djaq, he wasn't sure of. What little he had gleaned from Robin was that she had long been restless – searching for meaning to her life, and perhaps, the deaths of the people she'd held dear. She and Carter had more in common than most might have thought.

Djaq noticed his presence first, and approached him with a smile. "Carter," she greeted him, and clasped his arm in friendship. He still remembered the way she had looked at him with disgust, when he told of wanting his revenge against Robin, and perhaps thought him undeserving of the second chance he'd received. But now she was genuinely pleased to see him.

"Djaq," he smiled back at her. "Will," he greeted the taller man as he approached and shook his hand. "I am glad to see both of you."

"Are things not well in the King's camp?" Djaq asked, guiding them all to take a seat at the low table.

"The opposite, in fact," Carter smiled as he folded his legs under him and rested his palms against the table. "The King has received some favourable messages from Saladin. I believe there may be peace soon."

"Yes, we heard there was a ceasefire," Will said, pleased. "We hoped it was a sign of better things to come." He sought Djaq's hand, and shared a glowing look with her.

"Truly, I do believe it." Carter smiled again at the couple. There was an easy way between them, he noticed, a comfort at the other's presence where before there had been uncertainty and hesitation.

"What will you do, Carter, if you are able to return to England?" Djaq asked, turning back to him.

"Richard has offered me a place in his household, as an adviser."

Will furrowed his brow, studying him. "It is a generous offer," he replied delicately.

"Yes." Carter paused, the argument once again running over in his mind. "But it would not be long before the King would leave the English court. I have no desire to live in France," he told them. "But for now, my duty is to stay with Richard. I will decide what to do if – when – we have peace again."

"It may be difficult," Djaq told him softly, "to return home again. It may not be what you remembered."

"I know," Carter replied. "I feel a part of me will always remain here, buried in the sands."

Will looked at him sympathetically. "You would not be the only one," he pointed out. "You will always have the memory of your brother, and perhaps, someone to talk to who understands."

Carter nodded slowly. "I had thought a return to Nottingham might do me good," he said. He wanted to say more – he had only had a short visit from Robin before he left, when Carter had still been convalescing. He'd seen the emptiness in Robin's eyes, and perhaps the hurt that his gang was splintering away from him. Of course, he could not say this. Djaq and Will had made their choice.

Djaq looked like she wanted to say something, but was stopped as Bassam entered the room. "Saffiya, I am going out," he stated in English, for the benefit of Carter, and he assumed, Will. The old man was thoughtful enough, he reasoned, even if he did openly disapprove of having a Crusader in his home. "I will not be long," he continued, before turning to Carter, who rose to his feet and clasped his hands in front of him without really knowing why. But something about Bassam demanded respect.

"I wish you a pleasant day, sir," Carter said, "I do not intend to stay much longer."

Bassam's expression softened. "Perhaps there will be a day where you may sit at my table without worrying that your people or mine will catch you."

"I hope so, sir."

Bassam turned back to Djaq. "Do you require anything from Amineh's, Saffiya? I have a few medicines to collect."

"Perhaps some saffron," Djaq answered. "But only if she has some available."

"Will?" Bassam asked, making the young man blush slightly. It was obvious Will could have no use for anything bought at the apothecary, but it was symbolic – Bassam did not want him to be excluded.

"I am fine, thank you," he answered hastily.

Bassam smiled. "I will continue to search for any spare...wood..." he seemed to struggle slightly over the word, "that I can bring back for you." Will laughed softly at this, and Djaq smiled fondly, and rubbed his arm as Bassam departed.

Djaq sat back down at the table, and gestured for the men to do the same. "Please stay, Carter," she asked him. "Tell us more about the plans for peace."

* * *

He was far too close to Locksley. But this was where he had found and chased the damned pig, and Allan was not prepared to give up on the dream of feasting on pork. It was times like this, hungry and cold and hunting an animal through the forest in the dead of night, that Allan almost missed his employ at the castle. Almost.

The pig finally stopped, and Allan hung back, so not to startle it. He notched an arrow in his bow and took aim. But before he could let it fly, the pig was struck by another's arrow, which sent it squealing to the ground. A second quick arrow finished the animal off, and its dispatcher stepped from the shadows.

Allan took a shallow breath. It was Gisborne. He tried to back away slowly, but his feet were rooted to the spot. He watched as Gisborne pulled out his arrows from the pig's side. Allan expected an aide to appear to collect the carcass, but none arrived – Gisborne seemed to be on his own.

Allan did not move, but somehow, Gisborne seemed to sense his presence; looking around him, and his eyes fixed on the shadows where Allan was hidden. He did not seem to react, even though Allan knew he must have seen him, bow still in his hand, looking, he knew, rather dumbstruck.

"That's my pig," Allan said before he could stop the words from coming out of his mouth.

Guy grunted and turned away, hoisted the pig over his shoulder and started moving in the direction of Locksley. Allan hesitated a moment, then followed without really knowing why.

"Go away, Allan," Guy snarled as Allan matched his pace.

"You're not afraid I'm going to shoot you in the back?" Allan asked shrewdly, curious to Guy's reaction to him. He'd thought about it - after all wouldn't that have earned him Robin's trust, once and for all? But something had stayed his hand.

Guy looked at the bow and arrow still held in Allan's grip. "Interesting choice of words," he replied.

Allan refused to feel shame. He's made his choice, after all. And it had been the right one - he had to believe that.

"But I know you're not going to kill me, Allan," Guy continued, "just as I'm not going to kill you. Too many have died in his name."

"You're blaming him?" he asked disbelievingly.

Guy didn't answer, but quickened his pace. Allan almost had to jog to keep up with his long strides. They walked in silence for several minutes, until Gisborne finally spoke in a voice that was harsh with grief.

"You should have told me about Marian."

Allan remembered the way Gisborne had pleaded with him in the inn on the way to Portsmouth. Asking to confirm what he had, surely, long suspected. "Would you have believed me?" he questioned. Allan sensed that Gisborne had been lying to himself for so long, that only the words out of Marian's mouth would have convinced him.

Guy ignored his question. "She was the only one you never betrayed." And he stopped, suddenly, letting the pig fall to the ground, turning to look directly at Allan for the first time.

Allan sighed softly and shifted his feet uncomfortably. After weighing up several stories he could tell, he eventually went with the truth. "Marian was the point of no return," he said. "If I'd given her up, there would be no going back to the forest. Robin would have..."

Guy inhaled sharply at the sound of Robin's name, his shoulders tensing noticeably.

"So you were always looking for a way back." Guy's voice sounded pained, and for a moment, Allan felt sorry for him. He wondered if anyone had ever been loyal to Guy...and then he remembered Annie. She been loyal, until she discovered the man Guy was. But not _is_, Allan decided. Guy was not the same man he's pulled off attacking Annie in the courtyard of the castle, and kicked in the face. Not the same at all.

"No," Allan finally answered him. "But it's always best to keep your options open."

"Is that why you're here?"

Allan opened his mouth, and then closed it again.

Guy shook his head angrily. "If there's one thing I can't stand, it is betrayal," he told him. "Both of you played both sides – played us all so very well," he spat out angrily. "You disgust me, Allan."

"Oh, come off it," Allan replied dismissively. "You didn't seem to have such moral objections when it was Robin I was betraying. Face it Guy, you only have a problem with deception if you're the one being deceived."

He saw Guy clench a fist, and for a moment Allan thought he was going to lash out at him physically, and took a step back in preparation. But instead Guy appeared to calm himself, and took a deep breathe before speaking again, his voice clear.

"I chosen my side," he told him. "I have never wavered from that decision. Thought about it – yes." He paused, and a dark look crossed his face. "But I have remained loyal."

"Maybe that's your problem," Allan told him, not to wound him in any way, but rather a word of advice. Guy, for all his threats and gruff actions, had been somewhat kind to him, in the end – there had been a level of respect between them. He had, as Marian had always said – the potential to be a good man. But perhaps just not the will to become one, Allan considered.

Without another word, Guy stalked off into the darkness, and Allan watched him until he had completely disappeared from sight. Then he looked down at the animal which still lay dead in the leaves at his feet.

"Hello there," Allan grinned. He didn't know whether Guy had left it deliberately, or simply forgotten to pick it up again – honestly he didn't care which it was. It meant the gang could feast on fresh meat tomorrow, if Much could stop worrying about Robin long enough to cook it. Hoisting the pig up over his shoulder, Allan began the long walk back to camp, albeit rather slowly due to the extra weight.

It was close to dawn before he reached the familiar patch of trees, less than one hundred yards from the hidden camp. But another figure emerged from the trees to the west of him, and Allan dropped the carcass, grasping for his sword. But he needn't have bothered. It was Robin, looking as gaunt and troubled as ever, carrying a small cloth bag on his back. Allan, too tired to carry the pig any further, started to drag the animal in the direction of the camp. "Oi, Robin!" he called out.

Robin turned, and immediately strode towards Allan to help.

"Should be quite a feast, eh?" Allan said, smiling.

Expecting a diatribe about taking only the worst parts of the animal for themselves and giving the rest to the poor, Allan was surprised when Robin only gave him a simple nod and 'Yes' in agreement.

Robin grasped the hindquarter of the animal, and Allan the head and torso, and together they carried it.

"This is a Locksley pig," Robin said quietly as they were walking.

Allan cursed inwardly. How the devil did he know that?

"Yeah, I heard a few of their animals escaped," he lied quickly. It had, in fact, been pure chance he'd come across the pig. "So I went hunting for one."

"I know why you went there," Robin said softly, although he did not look at Allan.

Fear clutched Allan's heart – surely Robin had no reason to suspect he had any contact with Guy. Despite the forgiveness he'd been given, Allan wondered if he would always be met with suspicion, and distrust. It was not a pleasant thought.

"Robin, it's not what you think," he told him desperately.

"I think you'd be surprised about what I think," he replied cryptically. And then he looked at Allan – not with accusation, or judgement, as he had that awful day in the Trip – but with understanding. "I trust you, Allan," he continued. "You don't have to tell me what happened."

They reached the camp, and Allan took the entire weight of the pig, while Robin pulled the hidden lever to reveal the entrance. As he did, the pack Robin was carrying came open slightly, and Allan saw a familiar-looking mask peek out. He then looked properly at Robin's face, whose pallor and dark circles beneath the eyes he had attributed to grief, but could easily be explained by lack of sleep.

Robin caught him staring, and quickly pushed the mask back into his bag.

"Let's get that animal inside," he said.

* * *

Marian shifted uneasily in her place at the table – her legs were starting to ache from kneeling for so long, not to mention her awkwardness at the two men who sat opposite her. They were the men who had saved her life.

"There was a man," the one who had called himself Ibrahim was saying. "But he was not dressed like one of your Crusaders. He was holding you in his arms – and the others were speaking to him."

The second man, said something in Arabic to his companion, and Ibrahim nodded. "Yes, this man looked like he was in a great deal of grief."

"That..." Marian swallowed heavily. "That would have been Robin, my...husband."

"Yes," Ibrahim seemed to understand. "He did not want to seem to let you go."

"And then?" Amineh, who was sitting next to Marian, prompted him to move on. Marian had told her about Robin briefly – as much as she could handle speaking of him – and she no doubt understood she didn't wish to dwell on the sorrow Marian's apparent death had caused him.

"Your husband wanted to take you back to England with him, I believe," Ibrahim continued. "So he could give you a Christian burial. He did not, it seemed, want your body blessed by the Priests in the Crusaders camp. I do not know why."

Marian knew. Robin had told her about his problems with those in Holy Orders in the Kings Camp. They, he had said, were the most bloodthirsty of them all.

"His companions were trying to convince him that this was not practical. But he was not, it seemed, in his right mind."

Amineh cleared her throat and looked disapprovingly at the two men. "So your caravan was passing by at this time," he said.

"Yes," Ibrihim continued, looking a little put-out at Amineh's disapproval. "My apologies, but I had stopped to see what the problem was – I was interested, and was the only one of our party who could speak your language. Your King hailed me over, and gave me some gold. He spoke to your husband, saying that he knew his thoughts on our religion, and that if you could not have a Christian burial..."

"If he would consent to any kind of holy funeral," Marian finished for him. She was not surprised. Robin has strange ideas like that – and for some reason, an affinity for the people he had fought against for so long.

"Your husband looked at me – and I will speak no further as to the look in his eyes," he glanced at Amineh briefly, and hastened on. "But he said - _we created you from it, and return you to it, and from it we will raise you a second time_."

"It is from the Qur'an," Amineh explained.

"I told your King our women would cleanse your body, and that we would bury you – but they would not be able to attend. He told me he thought it was better that way, and he, along with another companion – a fair one – convinced your husband to let you go, and then led him away."

Marian bit her lip in contemplation. That explained some things, at least. "But how did they not realise I was alive?" she asked.

"We did not either, at first," Ibrahim replied. "You must understand, child, that you were so close to death you gave every appearance of it. It was only when our women fully examined you that they realised you were indeed taking very shallow, very irregular breaths."

"And then they brought you to me," Amineh explained. "Ibrahim is a cousin of mine, and knew I would look after you."

"Thank you," Marian said to the two men, feeling the emotions she had clamped down rise to the surface. "I don't know how to thank you."

"There is no thanks needed," Ibrahim told her, and smiled. "We do what we can to preserve life."

Marian wanted to ask more, but their conversation was interrupted by a knocking at the door. "Quickly, cover yourself up," Amineh said to Marian, and moved towards the entrance. But before Marian could adjust the scarf she wore over her head, an elderly man entered, and her pale face was the first thing that he saw.


	4. Chapter 3: Perdition

**Chapter 3: Perdition **

The camp was far too quiet.

Many people assumed that because Little John did not like to waste words himself, that he preferred silence. At times he did – he enjoyed the quiet on occasion – the solitude of the woods. Although they were never completely still either – birdsong, insect buzzing, the rustle of the wind and leaves – life permeated Sherwood at every level. John enjoyed that. He also enjoyed the chatter of his comrades around the campfire; Robin's boastful stories and plans, Much's prattle about nothing in particular and Allan's tall tales, usually embellishments of the gang's past exploits, or from his days as a poacher. Much of that was gone now. Also missing was Djaq's frank honesty and occasional fables from her homeland, and Will – although he had never spoken a great deal either, the comforting sound of him chipping away at his carvings made the crackle of the fire seem lonely.

There was little life or vibrancy left in the camp. John understood why, after all, he had been a rather brash and talkative man when he had lived in Locksley. But the loss of Alice and the constant companionship of the forest, which asked for no conversation, had drawn him inwards. After so many years the exuberance and youth of his outlaw friends could not completely draw him out. And yet, he liked to listen to them talk.

John didn't quite know what to say to Robin. His Alice was lost to him, but she and little Little John were alive – and he hoped, happy. The same could not be said for Marian and John was certain that anything he could say would sound patronising. So instead of offering emotional support, John tried to give support of a more tangible kind.

He'd gone to Locksley.

Mary Lovet looked up surreptitiously from the pigs she was feeding, while John was careful to hide his large frame behind the door of the barn.

"It's been very quiet around here," she said in a soft voice, glancing every now and then at the manor at the head of the village. "You should talk to Thornton," she added, "or Carol in the kitchens. They would know better than me, but I heard he keeps his fire burning all night and barely sleeps."

"He's not causing too much trouble here in the village?" John asked.

Mary shook her head. "It's as if he's forgotten about us entirely. He only comes out to make sure the taxes are collected and he even doesn't seem to take as much pleasure in that as he used to."

John grimaced. He didn't like the sound of that at all. A silent Gisborne was a cunning Gisborne – a man in planning, perhaps.

"Thank you, Mary," he said, leaning forward to press some gold into her hand. "We'll do another drop later this week."

"Bless you." Mary grasped the coins tightly. "Little John?" she called after him as he turned to go. "We've been hearing rumours that the Lady Marian did not return to the castle with the Sheriff. At least that's what they're saying in town...is she with Master Robin?"

John shook his head sadly, but could not bring himself to say the words. Mary obviously understood his meaning, cast her eyes downwards and crossed herself. Turning away again, John quickly disappeared into the undergrowth. He wouldn't let his thoughts dwell on Marian – so _young_ – when he could be out proving her sacrifice was not in vain. He would go to Nottingham next, to see what the news was there.

The villages, like the camp, were too quiet and he didn't trust either of them, for silence always hid secrets. It all felt like it was a false peace, or, how did the sailors put it? The calm before the storm.

* * *

In Acre, Will did not find the heat so much oppressive as the lack of water. In Locksley there had always been the lake and well, ready to draw water from. In Sherwood there had been an abundance of rivers, streams and brooks – not to mention the rain. But in Acre Will was beginning to understand the concept of a desert – as if all life had literally deserted the place. He would never mention that to Djaq, of course, the heat made her cheeks rosy and she was constantly running her fingers through the sand absent-mindedly. He had to remind himself that the deep browns and green of England countryside must have seemed just as alien to her as the desert was to him. And he liked to see her at ease.

He had not found such a balance with the place. He did not venture outside too often, due to the distrustful stares he received, the whispering behind hands in a language he did not understand – although Djaq had started to teach it to him. Only Bassam treated him with a sense of respect, although Will always felt his slight befuddlement at Will's strange English ways, his pale skin that burnt so easily under the sun, his obsession with finding pieces of wood to carve and even, he suspected, his devotion to Djaq. But the old man never said anything out loud, and he was in no way malicious. Will suspected he was allowed to stay because Bassam found him rather amusing. Even if he was forced to put up with the old man's snoring and talking in his sleep, so that Djaq could keep her own quarters. Not that he'd expected anything else, of course, because it wouldn't have been _proper_ at such an early stage in their relationship.

Still, Will wondered whether he'd been too hasty in convincing Djaq to stay – because it had been him who'd suggested it, seeing how happy she'd been in Bassam's house. He almost wished he had Allan to talk to – who had been in every situation imaginable and was always ready to give advice. Or even John, who listened carefully to every word and sometimes gave an answer of his own, if he deemed it worthy. He loved Djaq, and wanted to be with her always, but even so, he missed the companionship of the outlaws.

Will's contemplation was interrupted by Bassam entering the room and scrutinising it.

"Is your Crusader friend gone?" he asked simply.

Carter had left, rather reluctantly in Will's opinion, not long beforehand. Will had almost talked to him about his concerns, but felt too shy with such personal information. He didn't have that way Robin did with people – to become friendly and jovial with someone almost immediately upon meeting them.

"It seems all I am seeing today are pale faces," Bassam grumbled good-naturedly, then chuckled. "I wonder perhaps if you cannot overthrow us, you will simply replace us!" He laughed heartily and Will returned a light smile. But before he could question Bassam on his puzzling words, he disappeared, probably in search of Djaq to deliver her saffron. Will dismissed the thought.

Several days later Will was tending to the pigeons, and as it always did, the task made him wish he could send word to Robin and the others in England. Allan had taken Lardner back with him, in case of emergencies. However, the trouble with carrier pigeons was that once one message was sent, the birds had to separated manually again – McClelland had been forced to travel all the way to England in order to send Lardner back with a message. They could not afford to use one of the birds for trivialities.

Bassam worked next to him, occasionally singing softly in Arabic, attending to his pigeons with a loving hand.

"It is a lonely life," Bassam said eventually, sighing softly.

"What is, sir?" Will questioned gently, looking down at the old man who suddenly, looked rather weary.

"Tending to these birds," Bassam answered. "It is a highly important position, and respected. It has granted me favour among my people." He sighed again, and looked at Will directly in the eyes. "But it has its cost. Because of my duty, I have never been able to fight for my people; instead I had to watch while my kin were killed on the battlefields, or came home injured beyond repair. My life was always safe, but I could not protect my family or those I loved. I was bound to protect these birds instead."

"Then you were doing your part," Djaq's voice broke in, and Will turned to see her standing in the doorway. "Protecting our culture – that is still a noble calling."

Bassam smiled sadly. "I would much have preferred to be active."

"I wouldn't," Djaq told him resolutely, walking over and taking his hand. "I prefer that you are safe."

"To have sat back and let one who is still no more than a girl do the fighting?" Bassam patted her hand. "Now, do not take offense, Saffiya," he cut her off before she could protest. "I am sure the life you had in England was not what your Uncle had in mind when he taught you to defend yourself."

Djaq raised her chin defiantly. "What he taught me has saved my life many times."

Bassam looked weary. "I'm sure it has." He patted her hand again and returned to his work. "And I am very happy that it has led you back here," he said after a brief pause. "But I understand the call to do something more worthwhile."

Will looked over at Djaq, unsure of what to say or do. She crossed her arms defiantly and Will could see a subtle shake of her head. She didn't want to hear what Bassam had to say.

"I need to collect a few things from the apothecary," Djaq told him, effectively stopping the conversation.

But if anything, her statement made Bassam seem even more perturbed. He turned away from his birds again.

"Please, Saffiya, I would prefer if you did not go there any longer."

Djaq and Will shared a confused glance. "Why?" she asked. "You were there the other day."

"Yes," Bassam agreed. "And if you need anything I would be happy to go there instead."

"Why?" Djaq asked again.

"Did you see someone dangerous there?" Will asked, remembering Bassam's comment about pale faces. Could it be some Crusaders had occupied the shop?

"Not dangerous, as far as I know," Bassam admitted, somewhat reluctantly.

"I don't understand," Djaq gave Bassam a glare that demanded answers.

Bassam have a defeated sigh. "When I walked into Amineh's home the other day, she was with her cousins...and a pale-faced woman."

"She was English?" Will questioned.

"I do not know," Bassam answered. "She did not speak, and Amineh quickly sent her away." He turned back to Djaq. "Do you see now why I do not want to go there?"

"You don't even know who this woman is," Djaq reasoned, "it could be completely innocent – one of the Crusader's women seeking her advice, perhaps."

Bassam did not seem convinced. "We cannot trust someone if they are harbouring one of those people."

"_You _are harbouring one of those people," Djaq reminded him.

Bassam had no answer to that. "I am just trying to protect you, Saffiya – the way your uncle would have wanted me too."

"But you also understand why that may not sometime be possible," Djaq said calmly. "We cannot fear everyone."

Nodding reluctantly, Bassam seemed defeated, and once again returned to his birds, and Will wondered if he loved them so much because they were not as wilful as human beings.

* * *

"Are you sure this is a good idea?" Will asked Djaq in hushed tones.

Djaq shrugged. "Bassam is suspicious of everyone," she told him. "There have been women from Europe travelling with the Crusaders for years."

Djaq knocked on the door to the apothecary's home. It soon opened to reveal a stout, middle-aged woman, careworn but cheerful.

"Saffiya," Amineh smiled broadly. "Bassam said you had returned, although he did not say where you had been."

"Travelling," Djaq responded thinly, shooting Will a glance as they entered. "This is Will Scarlet," she continued, indicating for Will to remove his cloak. Amineh was startled by his appearance, but quickly concealed it. "He is my..." Djaq seemed unsure of how to describe him. "My..."

"I am travelling myself," Will took over. "Dj - uh – Saffiya is kindly showing me her homeland."

Amineh gave him a small smile, and then spoke to Djaq in rapid Arabic. Djaq responded in her own tongue as well, and Will watched the exchange carefully, only picking up a few words, certainly not enough to decipher what they were saying. But he assumed Djaq was explaining...something. She always seemed to be able to convince people they met that Will was not a threat.

"Welcome to my home, Will Scarlet," Amineh finally addressed him again in English. "Please, sit down."

* * *

Marian waited in the small alcove that had become her sleeping chambers in Amineh's house, separated from the main rooms by a narrow corridor. She had been extra careful to keep herself to this room lately – ever since one of Amineh's customers had seen her. Amineh had explained it away – she was not in the business of dealing with the invading soldiers, but their families and entourage she had no quarrel with. And times were hard in Acre for everyone. The man had seemed convinced, but had given Marian some very suspicious and not overly friendly looks. She made sure now to run out of sight whenever she heard someone knocking on the door.

But when she heard the sound of English-speaking voices down the hall, Marian followed them out of curiosity. She continued to keep herself concealed until she heard a familiar voice. Marian's breath caught in her throat and she moved into the room.

"Djaq?" Despite the different dress, there was no mistaking the young woman, nor the man who stood beside her. "Will?"

The couple turned. Upon seeing her, Djaq gasped, and Will's eyes became very wide.

Marian smiled nervously. "It's me," she told them, stepping forward.

Djaq shook her head in disbelief. "That's impossible," she whispered. "You were...I was _sure_."

"It's hard to explain," Marian told her. "But I am so glad to see you." Impulsively, she moved forward, as did Djaq, and they met in an uncharacteristic embrace. She looked over Djaq's shoulder to Will, who still looked utterly shocked, but was grinning broadly.

For the first time since she had awoken in Amineh's home – Marian allowed herself to weep.


	5. Chapter 4:There But For the Grace of God

**Chapter 4: ****There But for the Grace of God**

Djaq appraised the woman before her, trying to reconcile the memory of her lying bleeding in the sand to the image of the one who was very much alive.

"This is a miracle," Will declared, kneeling at the table behind them. He had been gazing reverently at Marian the entire time she had been telling them the story of her survival.

Djaq didn't believe in miracles. Every night when she'd been in slavery she'd prayed to Allah for salvation – to lead her out of bondage. He had never answered, not directly, anyway, and Djaq had learnt that she could not rely on divine intervention. She had to make her own way. It was that which had reminded her of the terrible cost of Marian's survival. The woman had been drastically altered, as only such an experience would do to a person. There were more obvious physical signs, of course – Djaq had been examining the gash that scarred her side. It was deep and only partially healed. Miracle or not, such a wound changed things.

"The injury is grave." Djaq finished her examination and moved slightly back from the rug where Marian had lain. "You may never fully recover from it."

Marian nodded. "I know." She pulled down her cloth tunic back over her stomach and sat up, grimacing slightly as she held her side.

"You are certainly not well enough to travel," Djaq told her shortly, unsure of why her voice sounded so cold. Perhaps it was because she could see Will's disappointment at her declaration clearly. Or perhaps it was because she had seen so many with similar wounds – her people and those of the enemy – lying on the battlefields. She had not been able to save them. And yet Marian had been stabbed twice – and had been delivered from death both times. And as happy as she was to find Marian alive, something about it seemed utterly unfair.

"We can still send Robin a message. Let him know that you're alive," Will spoke up, brushing away her inner thoughts. "I know the pigeons are for emergencies – but this certainly seems like one to me."

"No," Marian said firmly, shaking her head, her mouth in a firm, determined line. "I mean, you said it will still take a while for me to recover," she clarified. "If you send a message back now, it will only worry Robin – he won't be able to just wait."

"But it would ease his mind," Djaq counselled, and yet even through her objections, she knew Marian was right. As soon as Robin heard the news, he would do something rash – most likely return to the Holy Land immediately.

"Nottingham needs him more than I do," Marian replied.

Will still did not look convinced. But Djaq knew that at heart, Will still had an inbuilt respect for the nobility his family had always lived under and had difficulty questioning the social order – especially towards a lady. He would respect Marian's wishes, even if he did not agree with them.

"Then we will wait for you to recover," he rejoined.

"We?" Djaq asked innocently, but could not keep the sharpness out of her tone. She should have expected it, but it still stung slightly that Will had already made up his mind to accompany Marian back to England.

Will looked slightly sheepish. "Well..."

Shaking her head, Djaq cut him off. "We can discuss it later." She turned back to Marian who had adverted her eyes and looked slightly uncomfortable at what could have turned into a lover's spat. Djaq thought it amusing that she would immediately leap to that conclusion, and remembered she had probably worn a similar expression when Marian and Robin had bickered and huffed around the camp back in Sherwood.

"Amineh has taken good care of you," Djaq changed the subject quickly. The older woman had left the room to give the three of them some privacy.

"She has," Marian smiled warmly. "And I don't know how to repay her for her kindness – and yet...I am so happy to see both of you."

Djaq was touched by the self-conscious happiness and vulnerability in her tone, knowing that in the past Marian would have never been so transparently affectionate. It surprised her, and yet she understood it. It must have been so difficult –to wake up alone and injured among strangers – enough to bring emotions once held so carefully in check to the surface.

"It's a miracle," Will repeated, and Marian gave him an indulgent smile.

"It also makes my plans a little easier," Marian added.

Djaq shared a quizzical look with Will. "Plans?" she asked.

* * *

Carter ran through the Crusaders camp, dodging fires, discarded weaponry and other soldiers to get to the King's tent as quickly as possible. He burst inside, out of breath. Richard sat at the small desk he'd insisted on bringing from France, the ornate wood in contrast to the simple trappings of the tent. He looked up when Carter entered, and then back down at the parchment he was reading.

Carter bent over slightly, resting his hands on his knees and he took in lungfuls of air.

"What is it Carter?" Richard asked shortly, eyes still on his parchment. Carter knew he didn't like his soldiers wasting his time. He should have waited outside until he was recovered but the excitement had been too great.

"I have news to share with you, sire," Carter stood up straight and managed to speak.

"Yes?" Richard put down his parchment and focussed his attention on Carter.

"As you know, my lord," he continued, "I have been in contact with Will and Djaq – Robin's followers who are living in Acre," he reminded the King.

"I remember," Richard nodded. "Do they have news of the Saracen's movements?"

"No," Carter admitted, not bothering to say that he didn't imagine Djaq letting them know any of her people's secrets, even if she was privy to them. "But...several days ago they found someone in hiding among the Saracens in Acre." He paused momentarily, unsure of how to properly explain it. "It was Marian."

The King furrowed his brow, obviously trying to place the name.

"The woman who saved your life, sire," Carter told him softly. "Robin's beloved."

Richard looked at him with even more consternation. "But she is dead."

"Apparently not," Carter shrugged. "Will and Djaq say that she was discovered to be alive by the caravan you asked to bury her. She was gravely injured, but will recover."

Richard stroked his jaw, looking deeply troubled. "How is this possible?"

"I think the particulars are quite complicated, sire," Carter said. "But the reason I came to see you in such a hurry was to tell you that she is on her way. Now."

Richard stood abruptly. "Now?" he said gruffly. "You gave her permission to do this without speaking to me first?"

"She was rather insistent," Carter told him. His conversation with her had been brief, and he'd believed her when she said she had to speak with Richard immediately. That, and he hadn't entirely trusted her not to punch him in the face again if he had refused her. He heard voices outside the tent. "They're here now, my Lord."

Richard grimaced. He was not a man who liked to be caught unawares. "Well, by all means show them in, Carter."

Carter pushed aside the flap of the tent, where Marian, Djaq and Will stood waiting. He gestured for them to enter, but Djaq held back and caught Will's arm.

"We will wait out here," she said softly. Carter nodded and dropped the flap of material behind Marian. She entered properly, and dropped to one knee before the King, bowing her head in reverence.

"My dear," Richard strode forward, and taking her hands in his own, raised her up again. "There is no need for that. Why, I would not be standing before you if it had not been for your brave action."

Marian blushed. "I know, my lord, that my presence here may be hard to believe, but there is no foul play..."

"Do you think I would question the wife of my favoured general?" Richard continued, drawing up her chin so that she was forced to meet his eyes. "The Countess of Huntingdon herself?"

"Countess?" Marian spluttered. Carter bit back a smile. He would wager her mind had not even approached thinking about such connotations, but the King held nobility in the highest regard, and of course it would be at the forefront of his mind.

Richard fixed her with an indulgent, almost fatherly smile. "Are you not the wife of the true Earl of Huntingdon? Did I not administer the ceremony and witness the vows myself?"

Carter, of course, had not been there. He'd been bleeding into the sand while they had all gathered around Marian, but Richard had spoken of it wistfully later, pleased than he had been at least able to provide the ring to the couple...a ring, Carter noticed, that Marian was not wearing. She attempted to fold her hands together and cover up her naked fingers, but Richard, too, had noticed.

"I do not blame you for not wearing your ring," he smiled at her. "You never know what thieves are about the towns and in the desert, waiting to ambush travellers."

"My lord..." Marian had not seemed to have regained her composure fully. "I will return it to you."

"Nonsense," Richard waved his hand in dismissal. "It is the least I can do for the woman who saved my life," he continued seriously. "That is a service I do not readily forget. You and your husband have each rendered me such assistance, now. You are both high in your King's love."

"Thank you, my lord," Marian replied demurely, but Carter could tell she was about to test such a declaration.

"Carter will fill me in on the particulars of your miraculous survival later," Richard said, and went back to take a seat at his desk. "But I will consider it a reward from God for your bravery."

"Yes." Marin eyed Carter and he nodded, urging her to continue. "And of course, sire, I have a great desire to return to England. However, I wish to ask a favour of you."

"Anything."

Marian smiled. "I ask that you return with me."

Richard's mouth dropped open and sat in shock for several moments. But he quickly regained his composure and his expression turned serious. "I have sent Robin back to act in my name."

"Yes," Marian agreed. "But surely it would be far better for you to act in your own name?" She bit her lip, obviously worried about her impertinence, but then pressed on. "You have a ceasefire with Saladin, surely that is the opportunity to return to England and set things right there?"

Richard's expression was inscrutable. "You sound like your husband."

"I, too, am in agreement," Carter spoke up.

"A ceasefire is not a truce," Richard pointed out.

"But you could make it one," Marian told him, fixing the King with a determined expression. "You are at an impasse. You cannot breach Jerusalem, and Saladin cannot drive you from the land. What good is there remaining here?"

"In principle I agree with you," Richard told them. "But what would my people say if I returned to England without having conquered the Saracens? Would it not prove my brother right in saying that I was chasing a fool's errand out here?"

"Well, it is all a matter of politics, isn't it? Marian said. "If your armies agreed to leave, then I'm sure Saladin would be open to negotiating terms – to allow Christians on pilgrimage free access to Jerusalem, for example, and allowing you to keep some of the cities and lands that you have already conquered. Then it would not seem like a defeat, but rather a victory in terms of faith."

Richard looked intrigued, stroking his jaw again in contemplation, toying with the quill that lay on this desk.

"I have also been thinking, my lord," Carter added. "If you made a truce with Saladin for a fixed period – say, three years, than perhaps people would be under the impression that you are only returning to England to strengthen your forces, and that the capture of Jerusalem would still be a future possibility."

Marian nodded eagerly. "Three years is a long time," she said. "When the truce runs out people may have forgotten about it at all, especially if times are prosperous, and you may be able to make peace a more permanent notion."

There was silence for several minutes, and neither Carter nor Marian dared speak another word. Finally, the King seemed to have made up his mind.

"Robin told me that you were a remarkable woman," Richard smiled slyly at Marian. "He never said that you were so troublesome."

Marian smirked, but hid it quickly. "I'm sure he implied it, sire."

Richard nodded and clasped his hands in front of him on the table. "Carter," he said authoritatively, "arrange a meeting with Saladin."

"Yes my Lord," Carter bowed, unable to hide his grin. "Thank you, my Lord."

"Thank you, my Lord," Marian parroted and mirrored his bow. "Thank you."

* * *

"Are you sure about this?" Will asked as the night fell around the desert and they sat out watching the stars. "I would understand if you...wanted to stay here."

"A part of me does," Djaq confessed. "In my heart this will always be my home." She shifted closer to Will and he put an arm around her. "But a part of my heart also belongs with you, and our friends."

Will placed a soft kiss to her temple. "We can come back," he suggested.

"Maybe someday," Djaq agreed. "But for now I must be where I can do some good." She had come to accept that domesticity did not suit her. She had lived too long on the run, taking action, to fully enjoy the peace she had chosen. At least, when she knew that the fight was still ongoing – it felt selfish of her to settle down with Will when they had sent their comrades back to England in a fractured state. She worried about them. What if they hurt themselves? What if they needed her expertise? She felt like it should be enough; she thought being back in her homeland with the man she loved would be enough. But it wasn't. There was more to her life than that and she was determined to reclaim it.

"It will still take several weeks until Marian is fit enough to travel," Djaq continued, not alerting Will to her internal monologue. "There is still time."

Time to immerse herself in the hot sands – the smell of spices in the dry air, the comfort of Bassam, her only real link to her family, the rituals of her people, the familiarity of the mosque.

Time to say goodbye to all of that, because she didn't delude herself that she could be leaving for the very last time.


	6. Chapter 5: Nip and Tuck

**Chapter 5: Nip and Tuck**

The hour was late as Guy of Gisborne strode back towards Locksley Manor. He'd been out walking, as had become his daily custom after fulfilling his duties in Nottingham. The frequent walks were not to enjoy the clean night air, or the beauty of the forest that bordered Locksley at twilight – no – a large part of him did not want to return to the Manor. To the home where _she _had almost been mistress. He would have burned the house to the ground; to spite himself for wanting it, to spite her for never agreeing to live in it, to spite Hood by taking it away from him.

But he'd burned Knighton, too. The familiarity was all to oppressing. And if he was honest with himself, Locksley was the closest thing he had to a home, his own family lands having been long lost and his inability to find any other substitute all too clear.

So he walked, allowing his horse to find its own way back to the stables, as he always did. He wished to find peace with himself out in the woods, but it refused to come to him. There was beauty all around him, but he could not enjoy it, and the weather refused to suit his sombre mood. He would have preferred if it had been raining, if the sky was unnaturally dark and thunder rumbled ominously in the distance to drown out the incessant beating of his own living heart.

Hadn't he heard _hers_ beat wildly as she had stared him down in the sands of Acre? Hadn't he heard it slow as the steel of his blade pushed horrifyingly quickly through her flesh? But Guy had never heard it stop beating. Hood had been given that honour, if you could call it that. Guy had run.

So he returned to the Manor as he always did, without peace and without freedom from his thoughts, hoping at least Thornton had a meal prepared for him. Not that he ate, really, but rather just to know that someone was _there_.

But as soon as Guy entered the Manor, he knew something was wrong. Usually the servants flittered about, trying to remain unseen but never really being able to. And almost immediately, Guy noticed the presence that altered the room – _his_ room - so dramatically.

Hood was seated in the chair by the fire, his back to Guy as he stared into the flickering flames. He didn't turn around on Guy's approach, although he could tell he was aware of his presence by the way his shoulders tensed slightly.

A stab of anger went through Guy. Although the outlaw had proven he could gain entry into Locksley Manor undetected, somehow he sensed that this time he had been let in freely. And fed, by the looks of the empty plate and flagon on the table. For a moment Guy let his hand hover by his sword, but then decided against it. He would let Hood do whatever he had come to do. He wouldn't resist.

"I want you to imagine something, Gisborne," Hood spoke, almost startling him. He'd expected the outlaw to round on him immediately, sword raised. But he didn't. Hood didn't even turn around to face him as he spoke.

"Imagine you're nineteen years old, and you're in love," Hood continued, his voice low, but clear across the otherwise empty room. "But you decide that there are more important things than love – like duty, and honour – like fighting for your King, for your country and your faith." Hood paused, only for a moment. "But she doesn't understand, because she always thinks with her head. Weighing up the potential outcomes, the consequences, and plays it safe. Logical. The correct way, most likely. So she coolly, calmly tells you to fight in your war, if that's what you want. She wants a life."

A part of Guy listened to what his mortal enemy had to say, if only that his hungry heart longed to hear of Marian, no matter the pain it caused him. Although he noticed that Hood hadn't spoken her name. The other part thought it strange that Hood would be telling him such intimate memories.

"You wait for her to come say goodbye the day you leave for the Holy Land." Hood continued heedless of Guy's confusion. "Your entire village comes to see you off. Your manservant is at your side, ready to die for you if you asked. And you have asked, really. Because although you never tell him, you know you aren't strong enough to do it without him." Hood's voice sounded very far away, and Guy wondered if he even still realised he was speaking to another human being, or if his words were for himself.

"Your father is there, and tells you that your mother would have been proud of you. But she isn't there, because you killed her just by being born, and he never recovered from it," his voice became brittle and Guy saw his hand clench where it rested on the arm of the chair. "There has always been an empty spot in his heart that you couldn't fill," Hood goes on. "Sometimes you wonder if he's thankful you're going, so that he won't be reminded of her every time he looks at you. He gives you new leather riding gloves, pats you on the back, and tells you to bring him home some glory." Hood laughs, a strange, hollow sound, so unlike the taunting cries that had once been aimed in Guy's direction.

"But she doesn't come." His tone became leaden. "You dream of her amidst the death of the Holy Land and she, not the cross, becomes your signal. Even though you know she would have hated that. After five years of fighting, she keeps you alive, and you return to her."

"But she's different. She's changed. There is a hardness to her, a determination. She's not the girl you left behind, and to your surprise, you still love the woman who has taken her place. More, even, because she has become your equal, your counterpart. She balances out your faults and you balance out hers. And together, you're stronger." His voice almost broke, and Guy wondered whether he would begin to sob. He hadn't been able to – his eyes dry and heart empty, unable or perhaps unwilling to fully grieve. Because that would mean she really was gone.

"And then the one time she doesn't think – the one time she simply acts, not caring about the consequences, some – _idiot_ - kills her." Hood stopped, and Guy prepared himself for death – or whatever punishment Hood had planned. Perhaps he would be able to exact his own revenge on the man in the process – for being the one Marian loved, for being able to speak of her to readily – for being the reason Marian had turned against him.

But Hood rose out of the chair like an old man and sighed, bowing his head. Guy saw the Saracen sword that hung lowly from his hips, but the outlaw made no move for it. Without looking at Guy, he slowly walked from the room and out the front door.

Guy wanted to follow him, demand that Hood try and kill him, to declare _punish me_ – because he could not do it to himself. He stumbled forward slightly, leaning against the chair Hood had just vacated, clenching the wood with his fists. Rage shot through him, and he brutally hurled the chair away and into the fire, where the flames popped and cracked around the sturdy timber, turning it black. He stared unblinking into the blaze, waiting for the light and heat to prickle against his eyes.

But still the tears refused to come.

* * *

No one knew Locksley Manor better than Thornton – no one had spent more time in every nook and cranny, or had more practice at remaining unseen. The old steward had watched the scene between his old master and his current one, and was deeply troubled.

"Master Robin!" he called softly, appearing behind the last surviving Locksley as he walked down the steps of the Manor.

The young man turned, and Thornton was immediately affected by the age in Robin's face. He was thin and sallow, and his eyes were black.

"Thornton." Robin nodded, and took a half-step towards him, his arms hesitantly raising, as if unsure whether he should embrace the man. With a sad smile, Thornton realised it was a mirror of when Robin had first returned from the Holy Land. The servant was always aware of his station, but had been so pleased to see the prodigal son return home he had been quite overwhelmed. And as Robin had done then, this time Thornton took the lead and drew the young outlaw into a fond embrace.

Thornton patted Robin lightly on the back as they parted. "Master, I was so sorry to hear about the Lady Marian," he said gently.

For a moment a glimpse of despair crossed Robin's face, but he shook it off almost immediately. "Thank you, Thornton," he replied. "I..." He seemed to change his mind and clamped his mouth shut. There were a few moments of silence, before Robin spoke again. "Please don't call me Master," he said, even more softly. "I am Robin to everyone, now." He half-smiled, and Thornton almost thought he looked proud. Why he should be, at abandoning his title and status, Thornton did not know or care to understand. But as always, he obliged his Master's wishes.

"Very well...Robin." The name sounded foreign on his tongue. "I...also have to thank you," he continued cautiously. "For not killing Master Guy."

Robin looked at him strangely, as if unable to understand why Thornton would be thanking him for such an act. "That's what I came here for."

"I know." Thornton had decided not to interfere, whatever happened between his two Masters, but he had been relieved when Robin had chosen not to strike Gisborne down. The steward had, in fact, grown rather fond of his new Master, or at least understood that his pain was just as deep as Robin's was, although Guy had so support system, no friends to see him through. No one who loved him. He felt sorry for him, and as badly as Gisborne had treated the people of Locksley in the past, he did not want to see harm come to the man. He'd even been a fair and perhaps even kind Master since returning from the Holy Land.

"Your mother always believed in the power of compassion," Thornton added tentatively. "As did Lady Marian."

Robin nodded, looking rather stricken. "And yet both of them died because of me," he added forlornly.

Thornton wanted to shake the young man out of his depressive stupor, wanted to try to make him understand that not everything that happened was due to his own action, nor through his own fault. But, as always, propriety won out.

"Please take care, Master." The honorific simply slipped out - old habits were hard to break, after all. "Robin," he began again. "I know the situation seems bleak, but there is always hope. You must believe that."

Robin gave him a small, unconvincing smile, and then left. Thornton watched him disappear into the trees and said a small prayer for the Lord to watch over the young man in his hour of need. And he prayed for Guy's soul also, that he may find peace from his demons. That they would both find hope.

* * *

Marian did not feel at home in the King's camp. Although Richard himself had made it clear that she was under his protection, it did not stop the leers, or the whispered comments among the soldiers. And the entire circumstance of war, she did not like. It was one thing to arm herself to defend her life and the freedoms of others, it was quite another to be in a place with so much death, and the attitude towards it rather flippant.

It was so different to the peace of Amineh's home, which she had called her own for months now. The sandstone walls had kept her safe, and now she was leaving. And she could not deny that she was anxious about returning to England – and to Sherwood. She had no idea what had happened while she had been away. Robin, Much, Allan and Little John could be captured or even dead for all she knew. And even if they were not, she dreaded the moment when she saw her husband again – which was another matter. She had known that she would marry Robin, but it had always seemed like such a distant notion – like the return of Richard, or the end of the Sheriff. Instead, it had all happened so quickly. In truth, Marian was unsure if she felt comfortable with it. The way the King had addressed her – _the Countess of Huntingdon_ – it, too, made her feel uneasy. The surety of her feelings, which had seemed to clear and strong when she'd thrown them in Guy's face , were now distant and uncertain. And Guy...

"Excuse me, Lady, may I sit here?"

Marin looked up to see who had interrupted her thoughts. She saw a tall, fair man wearing the black robes and white cross of a Hospitaller Knight. His accent was undoubtedly English, but she found the low, melodic tones hard to place. She looked away again, towards the embers of the fire that were glowing dully in the dawn light.

"If you wish to," she answered, unsure of his intentions. So far no one had dared speak to her, apart from Carter, who apparently had taken it upon himself to be her protector, and dogged her steps. However, Marian realised as she glanced surreptitiously behind her, he was nowhere to be found.

"Forgive me," the Knight said as he gave a bow before taking a seat a respectful distance away. "You are the Countess of Huntingdon?"

Marian looked at him sharply, at his keen blue eyes which told her he already knew the answer. She chose to say nothing.

"You are the wife of Robin of Locksley?" the Knight pressed further, although his tone was so respectful she felt as if _she_ was being rude by not answering promptly.

"Yes," she answered.

"Then it is a great honour to meet you." The Knight raised his fingertips to his forehead and then brought them down in a sweeping motion mimicking a bow.

"You knew my...you knew Robin?" she corrected herself.

"Only by reputation, I'm afraid," the Knight smiled. "Everyone knew the young bold Captain of the King's Personal Guard. Although most of us had to be content to watch from afar."

"I know what you mean," Marian answered, smiling despite herself.

"Do you believe in God, my Lady?" The Hospitaller asked unexpectedly, looking at her with a shrewd gaze.

"Of course." The response was automatic.

"No, I mean, truly believe," he pressed. "To know that He placed you here for a purpose, and to know, just _know_, when you see your path, to trust Him enough to take it?"

Marian didn't have an answer for him. She couldn't say she'd ever factored God into her decisions at all.

"My apologies," the Knight bowed his head. "I did not mean to frighten you."

It took more than a mad monk to frighten Marian of Knighton. "No need to apologise," she answered evenly. "I was simply thinking."

"It is a question that does require great thought," he agreed. "Perhaps you may let me know the answer when you have decided."

Marian glanced at him warily. "You are sure our acquaintance will last that long?"

The Knight smiled. "I am sure of my own path. Perhaps not the direction, but I can see the markers." He paused. "You are returning with the King to England."

Marian nodded.

"Please let me escort your party," he continued. "If you would allow me the honour." He stood, and bowed again. "My Lady, I know you are cautious. Carter will vouch for me, if you wish to seek reassurance." He turned to leave, and then spun back around, a half-smile on his face. "Apologies are once again necessary," he bowed his head. "My name is Tuck."

Without quite knowing why, Marian rose and inclined her head slightly towards him in acknowledgement. She had no idea who he was, but her gut instinct told her not to discount him entirely.

She held his gaze firmly, so he would know she was not to be trifled with.

"I am Marian."


	7. Chapter 6: Said the Joker to the Thief

**Chapter 6: Said the Joker to the Thief**

Allan-a-Dale gave a heavy sign as he threaded a silver coin through his fingers, watching the firelight reflected in the metal. The camp was quiet, as usual. Stew bubbled in the pot over the fire, tended to diligently by Much. Little John sat opposite, reading softly to himself a letter from his son, sounding out the words one at a time. Djaq had taught him to read during their journey to the Holy Land, and Allan felt slightly pained by the memory.

Robin was off again. He'd left with the mumbled excuse of taking a walk, but he'd had his sack with him, and they all knew what he was up to. But they all pretended not to notice, for Robin's sake as much as their own. Allan had to admit that it heartened him to hear the villagers talk of the Nightwatchman still. Almost as if a part of Marian was alive, somehow.

"Alright, stew's ready," Much announced, and poured a bowl each for Allan and John.

"You not having any?" Allan asked in between mouthfuls of stew, noting that Much hadn't taken a bowl for himself.

"No," Much said quietly as he moved away from the fire and began packing a sack of his own. "I'll eat some later."

But Allan wasn't to be mollified. "Where you going then?" he asked almost indignantly.

Much sighed heavily. "I don't need to inform you of everything I do, Allan."

"Just curious." Allan shrugged. "You off to find Robin? Cause I don't think-"

"I don't need you to tell me what to do either," Much responded petulantly. He drew the string on his back tightly and threw it onto his shoulder. "I'll be back."

"When?"

"When I'm back." And he stalked out of the camp without so much as another glance back.

Allan shook his head in confusion. "What's up his shirt?" he asked no one in particular.

John, however, looked up from his stew to give him a stern look. "Why don't you just leave him alone."

"Do you know what he's up to?" Allan almost accused him. He didn't like being out of the loop.

"No," John answered calmly.

"And you don't care?"

John finished his stew and put the bowl down. "Of course I care," he said gruffly. "But maybe Much needs something separate from this gang. If so, I care enough to respect his privacy."

Allan slumped back against his bunk. _And what do I have?_ He thought morosely. But he tried to cast out the lonely thoughts. He had to keep himself occupied.

"How is little Little John then?" he inquired, changing the subject.

John smiled. "He and his mother are both well. Luke provides a good home for them."

Allan inwardly cringed. It probably wasn't helpful of him to remind John that his wife and son were being cared for by another man, even if he knew it was for the best. Allan knew exactly how he felt. Too often his thoughts lingered on Will and Djaq in the Holy Land, wondering how they were, whether they were happy. Whether they missed him as much as he missed them.

"So do you think Robin has a plan?" Allan changed the subject again. "I mean, we can't sit here forever, picking off the odd traveller as they come through the forest."

"The Sheriff and Gisborne have been quiet lately," John added. "They're up to something."

"But we've exhausted all our contacts in town and the villages," Allan replied, running a hand through his hair in exasperation.

"Something will turn up," John assured him, and picked up his letter again. "Have faith."

Allan clucked his tongue and went back to flipping his coin. In truth, he was bored. There had to be a more active way of taking down the Sheriff. He just had to think of it.

* * *

The King's Company left the Holy Land almost as soon as the treaty with Saladin had been signed. Marian, Djaq and Will were not travelling with the main party, of course. They were afforded the protection of the caravan, yes, but Richard had suggested they would be safer travelling separately from him. She wasn't sure if that meant safety from raiders or from his own soldiers who wouldn't like the idea of their king travelling with a Saracen women. It didn't really bother Djaq either way – she felt more comfortable simply to be with Marian and Will. Carter had for the moment abandoned the King's party, so he could travel with them as well. It was only the stray Marian had picked up – the Hospitaller Tuck – that Djaq felt uneasy around.

But she was glad to be going back to England, despite the hole in her heart that leaving her homeland once again caused. She knew she had made the right decision. She couldn't wait to see Allan, Robin, Much and John again. If she was honest with herself, she missed her boys. They needed her.

And yet it had pained her to say good bye to Bassam.

"_Allah forgive me," he'd said to her as she was preparing to leave. "Your Uncle would never have allowed you to leave again."_

"_But you know better, Bassam," she told him. "You know I would not have listened to him either."_

"_You are so strong Saffiya." He cupped her cheeks with affection. "You have survived where many others have not. I pray that Allah continues to smile upon you."_

"_As do I." Djaq had placed her hand over his. "And this is something I have to do."_

"_I would not try and stop you." Tears welled in Bassam's eyes. "I know that I could not. But please remember who you are, Saffiya, remember your people, and your culture. Remember us."_

"_I could never forget," she promised, and embraced him tightly._

Will approached, interrupting her thoughts and resting a comforting hand on her shoulder. "Are you alright?" he asked her. There was a note of fear in his voice, as if he was worried she was regretting her decision.

"I'm just thinking of what Bassam said," she told him. "About forgetting who I am." She turned to him slightly, and his hand slipped from her shoulder to the small of her back. "I always thought that taking my brother's name – becoming Djaq – was something I did to survive – that In could always go back to being Saffiya. That she was who I truly was." She looked down at her hands, the skin rough, the fingertips calloused from treating others, from grinding herbs and remedies, from harsh living in the forest. "But now I know that Saffiya died when my brother did. She was just some remnant, some ghost I was trying to breathe life back into." She looked up at Will and smiled. "This is where I belong. In the fight. Where I can be of some use to the greater good."

"Djaq..." Will pressed a soft kiss to her temple. "I love you. I know who you are."

She lent her head against Will's shoulder. "I know."

* * *

The company was camped for the night and Marian was thankful - finally - for the rest. She would not admit it to anyone, but the long hours travelling on horseback had irritated her side. The wound had, for the most part healed, but Djaq had warned her that the internal damage may always give her trouble. So she was relieved to be able to sit down, alone by the fire. She removed her weapons, an English longbow and quiver, and her own brand new curved Saracen-style sword. Amineh had presented it to her before she had left.

_The sword glittered in the sun, and Marian ran her fingers down the blunt edge, and grasped the handle edged with precious stones._

"_Made by the finest swordsman in Acre," Amineh told her with a smile. "I remembered a while ago he spoke of an English soldier – a Captain, one of Richard's own men – had saved his life when there had been a raid on his home and other crusaders had become violent, intent on pillaging the town. In gratitude_ _the swordmaker had gifted him a fine blade."_

_Marian swiped the sword through the air to test it. It was lighter than she was used to, but perfectly balanced in her hand, as if it had been made specially for her._

"_I asked the swordmaker not to recreate the sword he had made for the Englishman," Amineh continued, "but it's complement."_

_Marian was touched, and sheathed the sword away in her belt. Her eyes were downcast. "I don't know how to thank you for all your kindness."_

_Amineh took her by the shoulders and tipped her chin, so she looked her directly in the eyes. "Just remember that you have been saved for a reason, Marian. You must not be afraid of your destiny, whatever that may be. Allah be with you." _

Marian didn't believe in destiny – and she still didn't think her survival was thanks to anything other than luck, but she intended to take Amineh's advice. She was alive, and she planned to make the most of it. She had almost died before – in that awful cave in Sherwood, and at that moment she had promised herself to change her life, to live up to the expectations she placed on herself. To not be held back by anything or anyone. But she had made all the same mistakes. She had grown careless in her manner – she had let her love for Robin prevent her from thinking clearly – she had let her feelings for Guy go unchecked and encouraged him even further. She had let the death of her father effect her too deeply, or not enough, depending on how you looked at it. She had been brash and impulsive when she should have been thoughtful and cunning, and she had been manipulative and calculating when she should have been compassionate. But no more.

She was Marian Fitzwalter. She was not the daughter of Edward, the former Sheriff. She was not the ward of the court. She was not the wife of Robin Hood and the Countess of Huntingdon. She was not even the Nightwatchman.

She was Marian – and that was who she intended to stay. For better or worse.

A figure appeared from the shadows and interrupted her reverie with soft footsteps and a clearly agitated manner.

"What it is, Carter?" she asked, folding her arms defensively. He had been on edge ever since they had left the Holy Land, obviously eager to get her along to discuss whatever grievance he seemed to have.

"Are you well, Marian?" he asked, and she saw his eyes dart down to her side. Marian fought the urge to place her hand there and cover the area protectively. She was beyond such insecurities.

She sighed heavily. "As well as I have to be."

Carter bristled at her sharp tone, and almost looked as if he was going to lecture her, or argue with her, but he didn't do either. "I simply fear that the...addition to our party may have put you on edge."

Marian raised one eyebrow at him. "You were the one who vouched for Tuck," she reminded him.

"You asked me whether Tuck was an honourable man," he spluttered. "I had no idea you would invite him to join us."

"He is a man of God," Marian said evenly. "I am certain he only wants to help."

Carter gave her a sad look. "The people who began this war were also men of God," he said wistfully. "I have no doubt Tuck has only good intentions, but he believes he is bound to a higher power and not to this earth. Such men can be dangerous."

Marian mulled this over. It was true, Tuck did seem to see her as some kind of miracle incarnate, which made her slightly uneasy. But she had no doubt he was a loyal soldier, and would protect her. Besides, they could use a man like him when they returned to England. He could be a great asset to their cause. It was a gut instinct, one which Marian intended to follow.

"We will be back in England soon," Marian told him. "We will have enough to worry about then, so we should enjoy the peace and quiet while it lasts."

Carter bowed his head, still obviously disagreeing with her, but deciding to suffer in silence. Marian was thankful to retire, taking her own advice and deciding to enjoy the fact that compared to life in the forest, travelling posed no great dangers.

However she awoke to find out just how wrong she had been, and that the peace and quiet had not in fact lasted the night. Will burst into her tent, too wound up to be embarrassed or even notice that she wore only her thin gown for sleeping.

"It's the King," he panted, eyes wide and full of fear. "He's gone missing."


	8. Chapter 7: Someone to Count on

**Chapter Six: Someone to Count on.**

* * *

Marian stood in the vast hall, smiling slightly at the flamboyant tapestries that hung on the walls. She was flanked by Tuck and Carter, both of whom looked slightly disgusted by the colourful display that was giving her such pleasure. They stood so rigidly, so uncomfortably they reminded her of warriors she had seen in Norse fairytales; tall, stoic and blonde, as still in life as they had been on the page.

Although, having been travelling with them for many weeks, Marian could see she slight differences between them. Tuck's hair was fairer, almost white compared to the straw colour of Carter's, although his face was darker, tanned by age and the sun where Carter still had the paleness of relative youth. Their stance was a mirror image of the other, hands clasped in front of them, and while Carter had the rough coarse hands of a soldier, speckled with scars and blemishes, Tuck's were smooth, with long, nimble fingers practiced for surgery. And of course, Tuck wore the black robes of a Hospitaller – Carter in the white of a Templar. But each of them wore identical expressions of discomfort at their surroundings.

Tuck especially looked around mistrustfully at the attendants who stood at each doorway, dressed in pale yellow robes and floppy hats.

"Are you sure about this, my Lady?" he asked in undertone, although his lips barely moved.

"Yes," she replied, not taking care to lower her voice. "He was a great friend to us, once, in Nottingham."

Tuck almost smiled. "You certainly seemed at have picked up your share of strays in the forest," he added, sending a sidelong glance at Carter, whose mouth twitched in response, either with annoyance or amusement, Marian wasn't sure.

"I am not the uninvited member of this party," Carter murmured back.

While she was certain that Tuck and Carter respected one another, there seemed to be a kind of rivalry between them. Perhaps it was the natural tension between their orders, or the nature of their crusade. Cater fought for the King and peace, while Tuck had openly declared that he fought for God alone, and His cause, whatever he believed that to be. It was an attitude which had not endeared Tuck to Djaq, and Marian was sure that the feeling was mutual. More than once Marian felt she may have made a mistake allowing Tuck to accompany them, and if either Carter, Djaq or Will had asked her to revoke her acceptance to Tuck's request, she would have done so. But none of them had, and any ambivalence within the group was minimal, and Tuck, for the most part, kept to himself. Marian wasn't quite sure why, but she found his presence comforting when he sat with them by the fire, rarely speaking, just listening to all of them, as if he felt he needed to know their hearts and minds before he would attempt an inroad into their camaraderie. And she knew that they needed all of the help they could get, if they were going to rescue the King.

They continued to stand in silence until the far entrance to the hall was flung open and in strode a familiar face. He raised his arms, palms outward, then clasped them to his heart.

"Ah, my Lady Marian!" he cried out in English, his Germanic accent unmistakable. He hurried forward to embrace her, and placed two kisses to her cheeks. "What a wonderful surprise!"

"It is lovely to see you again, Count Frederick," she replied warmly, unable to keep the grin off her face. "May I introduce my companions," she gestured towards them. "This is Tuck, and Carter, Knights of King Richard's Crusade." She watched with amusement as her two guards took in the sight of the Count, from his pointed, high-heeled boots, to his bright blue tunic, right to the peacock feathers in his hat, and gave identical grimaces.

The Count, however either did not notice or did not care. He shook both their hands vigorously in turn. "Welcome to Bavaria, gentlemen. Any friend of Lady Marian's is friend of mine," he said before turning back to her with an impish smile. "And what brings you here, my Lady?" he asked, taking her hand and placing a kiss to her knuckles. "I sincerely hope it is to say that you have abandoned your Outlaw and come to marry me."

She faltered slightly, but immediately covered it with a winning smile and withdrew her hand from his grasp, wagging her index finger at him playfully.

Carter, who had not met the Count before and obviously indignant at the apparent jibe at his friend, cut in frostily; "She is no longer Lady Marian, sir Count. She is the Countess of Huntington."

The Count was undeterred by Carter's harsh tone. "So you married your rogue, eh?" he pinched her cheek playfully and grinned. "Congratulations, my dear. Is this a honeymoon, then? Where is Robin?" He looked around her exaggeratedly and she saw Carter roll his eyes.

"I am afraid Robin is not here," she put a stilling hand on the Count's arm to stop his theatrics. "But we do require your assistance. Our king has been taken hostage, and we have reason to believe he is being kept in a castle not far from here, at least for the moment."

Frederick immediately stopped his showing off and became more serious, his brow furrowing in thought. "My goodness, this is serious news. And you are intending to rescue him?"

"If possible," she answered. "Will and Djaq are there now, gathering intelligence."

"I will surely help you in any way I can," Frederick answered solemnly. "You must all stay here – my servants will prepare rooms." His face brightened and he smiled again, linking Marian's arm in his and leading them towards the entrance to the hall. "But first you must tell me everything, and I will give you a tour of the grounds. A Count and a Countess, it is fitting, yes?" He laughed heartily.

Marian smiled as well, her heart lighter than it had been in months. She allowed the Count to lead her, Carter and Tuck following closely behind.

* * *

Robin's heart beat wildly as he ran swiftly through Sherwood forest. He heard the heavy footsteps of the castle guards behind him, and Gisborne's behind them.

"Get the Nightwatchman!" he heard Gisborne shout hoarsely.

But Robin was too quick for them, and he knew Sherwood too well. He ran until he was out of their sight, then hid beneath the roots of one of Sherwood's oaks. He waited there for perhaps an hour, until he was sure that they had given up and headed back to Nottingham.

Robin pulled himself to his feet, shaking out the cramp in his legs from being crouched near the ground for so long, and pulled off the Nightwatchman's mask. The damn thing itched, but wore it nonetheless. Allan had mentioned in passing where he'd hidden the Nightwatchman's costume and Robin had retrieved it, often making night runs to the villages. It made him feel closer to her – and it comforted him to still hear the Nightwatchman's name around the villages, even if it meant he rarely slept.

Instead Robin devoted his time to the poor, to his gang, and to his mourning. He had thought, before, that those had always been his three priorities – his people, his men, and Marian. But with the clarity of hindsight, he saw that his thoughts had been for the King, his cause, and for himself. He could not deny that he abandoned the poor, just as Richard had. He had been so consumed with the Sheriff's plot that he had lost sight of the people he had sworn to protect. Little John had been right about that.

And he remembered his words to Allan when they'd been strung up in the desert –_ it's not the King's fault _– and he had willed himself to believe it. To keep faith in Richard who had flattered and praised him, who had given him his love, respect and trust – everything he had never received from his cold, distant father.

But he'd seen Richard in a new light, the last time they had parted. Oh, he was still Robin's sovereign lord, and he intended to continue to serve his king as required by his conscience, his birth, and his moral code. But he no longer saw Richard as God incarnate – His representative on Earth who he'd followed blindly to the Holy Land seeking glory. There was no glory in a King who did not trust his servants, he saw that now. Robin's faith had been shattered, not only in Richard, but in himself.

For had he not also disparaged his men, ignored their advice, abandoned them when they had needed his help and support? He had not forgotten the looks on their faces, that night in the barn when Much had broken his heart –_ you still treat me like a servant, you don't treat me like your friend_. How those words had haunted him. Much had been right, Robin had realised with sickening clarity. He had been just like Richard – the high lord without a thought for the people who had supported and loved him. And Marian – she'd tried to tell him so many times, but he hadn't wanted to listen. He hadn't wanted to listen to any of them.

And so his life in Sherwood had become one of atonement. He sought the advice of John, Allan and Much on every decision, and had discovered, to his surprise, that they were more than up to the challenge. They had avoided Nottingham for the most part. Vaysey had been quiet and they'd been unable to discover his plans, if any. And the Sheriff's men, in turn, had left them alone unless provoked – perhaps no longer thought them worth worrying about – four men in Sherwood, no spy in the castle.

He tried often to think of Marian and almost relished the pain her memories caused him, as if it was part of his penance. He remembered her sweet laugh, her cunning and bravery, and the way she would look at him in anger and it would be the most intoxicating thing he'd ever seen. And he remembered her lying in the sands of the Holy Land, where he had killed so many men. The sight of it was forever burned into his memory. There had not been so much blood – it had almost looked at if he had been sleeping. But the wound in her belly and her stillness had indicated otherwise.

He had left his cheer, his charm and his laughter in those harsh desert sands, and his promise to her to keep fighting sometimes the only thing which kept him going.

* * *

Guy seethed to himself as he ransacked Marian's old room in the castle. If his guards had not also seen the Nightwatchman, if they had not sworn on the lives of their children that the villagers often spoke of the Nightwatchman's recent activities, he would have believed it to be an apparition or a ghost.

But it had been real. He threw aside parchment still lying on desks, shattered ornaments and jewellery, upturned the mattress from the bed and ripped all of her clothes from the wardrobe. The Nightwatchman's costume was not there. He'd already searched Allan's old room, and it was nowhere to be found.

He roughly removed a drawer from the wooden writing desk and shook its contents onto the floor. Out fluttered parchment, ink, various trinkets and a small piece of cloth. Guy stopped, reached to the floor and gently picked up the cloth, working its soft fabric between his fingers. It was the embroidery piece Marian had been working on her last day in the castle; it could have been a handkerchief or the making of a small scarf. He brought it to his face and inhaled her sweet scent, still clinging to the fabric.

But something caught his eye, and he examined the embroidery patterns at the edge of the trim. They were small symbols which would have been unnoticed to the normal eye, but clear enough on close examination. He recognised the circular symbol and wavy lines – it was the symbol which had once hung in the hall of Locksley Manor, the symbol he had seen carved into the imbecilic tags of Robin Hood's men.

Even from the grave, she was taunting him. He clutched the cloth in his fist, remembering angrily how she'd brazenly been sewing it right in front of him – how she had poorly concealed the fact she already knew it was Hood's birthday. Guy felt sick – she'd been making a gift for her lover even as he had stood there, trying to protect her. Hate burned in his heart, although he did not know if it was directed at Marian or fuelled his own self-loathing. Perhaps both.

Clenching his jaw, Guy took three paces across the room and flung the cloth into the fire. The same fire he had demanded always remained lit, as if she somehow she would reappear in the room one day. He leaned against the mantle and watched the cloth burn until nothing remained of it but ash.

Guy heard someone enter the room, but he did not take his eyes off the fire. It could only be Vaysey.

"But what is this?" he heard Vaysey say mockingly. "What has happened to the shrine?" Guy heard him picking through the debris he'd left on the floor kicking aside various items. He heard something shatter and crunch, as if it had been trodden on.

"It was all a lie," Guy said, his voice rough, almost to himself. "Every look she ever gave me, they were really for him." The words felt bitter on his tongue. Guy didn't mention that he'd seen the Nightwatchman – he still couldn't explain it. Perhaps it had only looked like her.

"Oh, Gisborne, Gisborne, Gisborne," there was no pity in Vaysey's voice, just the old mockery that made Guy wonder why he had not taken Marian up on her offer of marriage. He had thought, then, that he had wanted her with no strings attached – now he didn't care how many strings her acquiescence had come with, if only she was still alive.

"Forget about that leper," Vaysey continued. "I never understood what you saw in the preachy harpy, anyway. They'll be plenty of distractions in London," he added. "Ones that will no doubt be more willing and not quite so...moral," he said, the word sounding acidic, as if he had almost choked on it.

Guy turned around, confused. "London, my Lord?"

"Yes," Vaysey clapped him on the shoulder. "I want you to tell Prince John the good news about his dear brother Richard."

"You have heard, then?"

"The King is in safe hands" Vaysey told him, grinning, the firelight glinting on his false tooth, now gold. "He should be on route now, and in a few days will be enjoying the hospitality of Duke Leopold in Austria." He rubbed his hands together in obvious glee.

"And what if Hood discovers your plot?" Guy asked.

"He won't," Vaysey replied confidently. "At least not until it's too late. And then what a conundrum he will be in, stealing the funds that will be taxed to pay for poor Richard's ransom. Why, that's akin to treason." Vaysey let out a low laugh.

"I don't think that will stop him," Guy countered.

"Of course it won't, Gisborne," Vaysey snapped in that tone which never failed to make Guy feel completely stupid. "But it will hurt his conscience. And besides," he continued, "Hood is of no consequence now. Do you think I care about four measly men in the forest? A clue..." Vaysey shook his head.

Guy suddenly felt very tired. "Very well, my lord," he said dully. "I shall leave at first light."

"Gisborne," Vaysey stopped him, reaching up to lay a hand on each of his shoulders, his tone noticeably, unusually softer. "You know the importance of this mission – I would not trust it to anyone else." He gave Guy another pat on the shoulder and left the room without another word.

Guy breathed a sigh of relief. While before, he would have given anything for such praise, now the victory felt hollow. He'd once longed for advice, tutelage and trust from Vaysey, everything he'd never received from his own gruff, violent father, but now that faith sat uneasily on him.

But his thoughts turned to London, and brightened. He'd long awaited an audience with Prince John, the chance to make himself indispensible so that when John was King, Guy would surely reclaim his family's land and honour. He would look back and think Marian a fool for turning against him – for rejecting the love, wealth and power he could bestow upon her. And, finally, his heart would be too full of pride to grieve her loss any more.

Guy squared his shoulders, feeling as if a large weight had been lifted from them. He stalked out of Marian's room and did not look back. He passed a castle guard in the hallway, and stopped him purposefully.

"Make sure that junk in there is thrown away," he ordered, indicating the carnage in Marian's room. "And put out that fire."


	9. Chapter 8: Regicide

**Chapter 8: Regicide**

The feast their first night at Count Frederick's castle was excellent, and Marian felt in light spirits as they discussed their plans.

"I have invited the Baron and his retinue for an evening of gambling tomorrow night," Frederick, seated at Marian's side, was telling them. "The castle will have less guards – he takes great care with his personal safety and always have his security detail with him."

"There will still be guards there, though," Djaq interjected from Frederick's other side, where she and Will were seated. "It may be very difficult to get past them."

"I know," Marian agreed. "That's why our best chance is for you and I to sneak in as servants – you said he is brought his food by the kitchenmaids?"

Djaq nodded. "I have located two we are able to bribe and exchange places with for the night."

"But it is not the getting in I am worried about," Marian told them.

Will nodded. "It is getting the King out," he agreed. "Even with the reduced security, he is watched all day, every day. We could never remove him from the cell without them noticing."

"If we can just get in to see him," Marian told him, "let him know of our plans. Then we can think of how to get him out." She turned to Carter and Tuck for reassurance. They both seemed happy enough with the plan, although they seemed even more pleased with the food before them. Marian could imagine they were relieved to be eating anything other than the soldier's rations they had been surviving on for the past few years.

"I still think it is risky," Will pressed. "We don't know if he is going to be moved – or when."

"My discreet enquiries tell me that the Baron is in league with Duke Leopold," Frederick told them. "It is likely that they will take your King to Austria."

Marian sighed. "I know that if Robin was planning this we'd be charging in swords drawn, to liberate the King on the first attempt or die trying," Marian conceded. "But I think it is better to be cautious, to know what we're up against."

"I agree," Tuck interceded evenly. "We need intelligence."

Djaq and Carter nodded, clearly in agreeance. After a few moment's thought, Will also gave an nod of acquiescence.

"Well, now that our reconnoitre is over, let us have some music." The Count gestured for a nearby musician, who walked towards the centre of the room, bowed, and began to play a cheerful tune on his lute.

Frederick took advantage of the additional noise to lean in close to Marian, his voice soft so that the others would not hear him. "Now, Marian, my dear," he said seriously, "I am worried for you."

"I will be fine, Frederick," she reassured him, patting his arm and smiling. "I'm sure you remember I am used to such dangers."

"I do not mean your plan," he told her. "I mean your marriage – forgive me," he added quickly, "but you did not seem pleased when Carter referred to you by your title."

Marian bit her lip. She disliked such personal questions. "I...I am not used to it," she answered softly. "It was in the Holy Land and I...I thought we were going to die."

Frederick caught her eye, clearly surprised. "You regret your marriage?"

"No," she answered quickly. "No. I just..." she trailed off, and looked down at the table, unsure of what to say. She resented Frederick, slightly, for intruding on her thoughts in this way.

"You are unsure of whether you would have married him, had you not been on the verge of death," Frederick finished for her.

"I don't know," Marian replied softly, her eyes still downcast. "I do love him – I realised just how much then and that has not changed. I just...I don't know how things will be when I see him again."

"You miss him," Frederick observed.

Marian sighed, and met his gaze again. "Yes."

"Then do not think of yourself as a wife," he advised her. "You will be lovers reunited – that is all that matters." He patted her hand again, reassuringly.

She smiled ruefully. "The last time I lived in the forest," she paused, her lip twitching at the memory. "It did not go as smoothly as it could have." All too well she remembered their bitter disagreements, which, while they always reconciled, were never truly resolved.

Frederick chuckled. ""My dear, love is never smooth. But that is what makes it exciting, eh?"

Marian smiled, despite herself. She could not deny that that had always been the thrill of her and Robin's relationship, the push-pull of their arguments, the verbal sparring and passion simmering just beneath their harsh words.

"He cares about you deeply, Marian, that much was obvious," Frederick continued, his tone serious again. "I am sure you will work out any differences you have."

Marian felt her smile become somewhat forced, but looked at Frederick in a way which she hoped looked thankful, and did not betray her doubts. "I hope so."

* * *

Eve had never been so content. Her small cottage, although sparsely furnished, was delightfully warm from the flickering fire, and she sat comfortably on her bed, her legs folded beneath her. Her main source of happiness, however, was the man sprawled on the bed beside her, his head resting on the folds of her skirt in her lap, gazing up her with adoration.

Much had been visiting her since soon after his return from the Holy Land - at least as often as he could get away from Nottinghamshire and make the journey. It was at least a day's ride to the village she had settled in, far enough from the Sheriff's reach, but too taxing a journey for him to make regularly.

He had simply appeared at her door one day, soaked through from the rain outside, looking like a lost soul. He had told her of their journey to the Holy Land, the attempt on the King's life, the death of Lady Marian, and she had held him while he poured out his soul to her, relieved, for once, it seemed, to share the burden.

She'd never asked how he'd found her, she'd just been relieved that he had. Her life was quiet and simple, but his visits made her forget any dull moments. It was only when he came to her that she allowed herself to dream, to imagine that her small cottage was theirs, that he was her husband dozing so contentedly in her lap, and she could hear the laugh of honey-haired children outside.

"I should be getting back soon," Much spoke into the silence of the room, regret lacing his voice. "Allan is starting to get suspicious as to why I am absent so often."

Eve felt her daydream fade, replaced with disappointment. It always ended, sooner or later, and Much returned to Sherwood. "Why have you not just told him?" she asked.

"Because Allan has a big mouth" Much informed her. "He would never let me hear the end of it, and then Robin would know."

"And you think he would disapprove?" Eve frowned. That was one aspect she still did not understand.

"No, I'm sure he would approve, but I do not think that he could bear it."

"Because of Lady Marian." Eve found herself annoyed with the woman, who, even in death, seemed to come between them. She had not particularly liked Lady Marian when they had met – had in fact resented her for the conversation she'd overheard with Much in Bonchurch. Lady Marian had all but called her a liar and a whore, accused her of playing with Much's affections to gain information for the Sheriff. And of course, it had started out that way, but what right had Lady Marian had to judge her when Eve had come to learn that she was no better? She played the innocent maid for Guy of Gisbourne and yet passed information to Robin Hood.

But Eve said none of this. Instead, she let her frustration fall on Much's master. "So he cannot let anyone else be happy?" she questioned. Truly, she thought, Robin Hood was a selfish man.

"Yes...and no." Much tilted his head, as if considering. "He would feign joy for me, but...he is still depressed, Eve. I think it comforts him to know that we are all in the same position, missing those we love. Were I no longer his equal in that he would withdraw." He shook his head and cast his eyes downward, a sadness crossing his visage. "That is what he does. I saw it in the Holy Land – the first time. He hates himself, and so he tries not to be so human. He becomes a soldier, a warrior, and nothing more."

Eve gently pushed the hair back from Much's brow, her fingers lightly caressing the golden strands that glinted in the firelight. She knew that he had seen horrible things in the Holy Land – things he could not tell her about. But, as ever, she was willing to listen whenever he did open up, silently reassuring him that she would not think less of him to speak of it, or allow the tears to fall upon his face.

Much blinked hard, as if to wipe the memories away. "And it would not be good for him – or us – should be become like that again."

Eve did not speak further, content to stroke his hair and gaze into the fire. She knew Much also enjoyed the quietness they could share – she knew that all too often he felt as if he had to be the one to fill the silence, which, she supposed, was where is reputation for speaking nonsense came from. She had assured him that he did not have to keep up appearances with her, that his mere presence was enough.

It was a long time before she spoke again, remembering what she'd been wondering at ever since he had returned to her. "Can I ask you something, Much?"

"Of course." He looked up at her again, and she felt warm under his loving gaze.

"It is something I have wanted to ask for a long time," she began.

He looked up at her quizzically, but urged her to continue.

Eve steeled herself, waiting a few moments to brush a speck of dirt of his tunic before continuing. "You once said that when there was justice again, you would come and find me," she told him, her heart warming at the remembrance. "And yet you have found me but there seems to be less justice now than there was then. What made you change your mind?"

Sighing, Much shifted off of her lap, and stood, wandering aimlessly around her small cottage for several long minutes before turning back to her. "I suppose I was scared that I would be waiting forever," he told her. "There seems so little hope, now. The King is aware of the atrocities here in England – about the treachery of his own brother, and yet he does not return." His mouth twisted bitterly. "Gisbourne was at least right in that, as much as I hate to admit it – the King cares more about his wars in the Holy Land than he does about his own people." Much leaned against the mantelpiece with both hands, hiding his face from her. "And...well, Robin and Marian were waiting until there was justice before they would allow themselves to marry. But now she is gone and there will never be justice for Robin – not really."

She rose and moved towards him, resting a comforting hand on his shoulder and gave him an impish smile to try and lighten the mood. "But you have not asked me to marry you."

"I would," he turned his head towards her, his tone earnest. "If I thought you would accept."

"I would," she replied, her smile fading somewhat. "If I thought that you would stay with me."

That was the impasse. Much would not desert his fellow Outlaws, he was much too loyal for that. And it seemed they needed him now more than ever – especially Robin, who would crumble without his loyal friend. One day, Eve told herself, if and when this was all over, she would tell Robin Hood exactly what she thought of him. And it would not be kind.

"Come back with me," he asked her suddenly, turning towards her fully and taking both of her hands in his own. "Come live in the forest."

She looked at him with a sort of pity. "Not five minutes ago said that the mere knowledge of me would drive Robin into even deeper pits of despair," she told him practically. "Now you want me to go with you and flaunt our happiness in his face?"

Much sighed. "You're right," he said sadly, dropping her hands and moving to sit back on the bed, head in his hands. "I would never do that to him."

She sat beside him, resting gentle hands on his arm. "He does not deserve you."

"I know." He nodded. Eve knew that it was not an understanding he had come to lightly – after all, years of upbringing had told him that such a thing was not possible. But Eve also understood that Robin knew that now, too, and she wondered how he dealt with that.

Much spoke again, thoughtfully; "But sometimes we want to give those we love more than they deserve."

His innate goodness never failed to kindle her heart. Truly, she had never met a person so giving of himself, so willing to sacrifice his own happiness for others. He would lay down his life for any of his friends, for her, in an instant and die happy that he had been of service.

"That is why I will wait for you, my Much," she replied sweetly, shifting onto his lap, wrapping her arms around his neck and drawing him close. "However long it takes."

His fingers stroked her jaw tenderly. "I love you, Eve," he whispered, and kissed her gently. "And one day we will be together for good. But now..." his seriousness gave way a charming smile. "I thought perhaps...a bath?"

"Of course, my Lord." She cooed playfully, and kissed his nose. "I trust you will not object if I join you this time?"

He stood, sweeping her into his arms as she laughed in delight.

"Not at all," he told her.

* * *

Marian walked down the long, dark hallway, careful not to let any of the fear she felt betray her. She was reassured by Djaq's firm, reassuring presence beside her. They both wore the plain clothes of the castle kitchenmaids, caps covering their hair and pulled low to hide their faces in the shadows. She hoped that the guards they passed would take no notice of them and not realise that they were not the usual staff. But luckily, they seemed unconcerned by their presence and, finally, they reached the final cell of the dungeon where they knew Richard was being held.

The guard who stood watch over Richard's cell regarded them only briefly, glancing at the tray in Marian's hands and the pitcher of water in Djaq's. He unlocked the door behind him and nodded them in. The two women went inside, the heavy door closing firmly behind them, and Marian heard the unmistakable click of the key in the lock. Based on Will and Djaq's reconnaissance, she knew they would only be afforded a few minutes alone with the King, to ensure that he ate and drank.

Marian peered into the darkness, her eyes adjusting as she noticed a huddled, stirring form in the corner of the cell. She hurried towards it, falling to her knees beside him and placing the tray to one side. Placing a tentative hand on the pile of dirty blankets, she asked; "Sire?" Her voice sounded painfully thin, even to her own ears.

Richard turned towards her, and Marian stifled a gasp. His face was hollowed, his skin sallow, and his once broad shoulders sagged in defeat. Marian was only glad Robin could not see his king so degraded. In this dungeon, Richard was no longer the Lionheart, but merely another prisoner covered in filth.

"My Lord?" Marian prodded again when Richard said nothing. "It is I, Lady Marian."

Recognition seemed to dawn on Richard, and his face cracked into a smile. "Marian, my dear," he rasped, clearly not having spoken in quite some time. "Have you come to rescue me?" He chuckled softly to himself, but it soon gave way to hacking coughs.

Marian looked helplessly at Djaq, who came to their side instantly, placing bracing hands on Richard's back and sternum.

When his coughing subsided, Marian continued, acutely aware they could not linger. "We are working on it, Sire," she told him. "We will get you out of here."

Richard lifted himself into a seated position, Djaq assisting him to lean against the stone wall. "Marian speaks the truth, King Richard," she said.

He laughed again, and Marian thought perhaps his capture, however brief, had already begun to addle his mind. "The wife of Robin Hood and a Saracen woman have come to rescue their King," he chuckled to himself.

Djaq visibly bristled at both implications, and retreated to the door, clearly conscious of the guard outside. "We must hurry, Marian," she urged.

"My Lord you are well guarded," Marian said quickly, "but we have come to tell you not give up hope, for we will rescue you. We will find a way, and if they move you, we will follow. I promise you I will not give up until you are free and we can take you back to England."

"Or die trying." Richard looked back at her, and blinked. For the first time, he seemed to really see her beside him in the dark. "My dear," he said softly, his voice still carrying a slight rasp, "your loyalty is commendable. I have seen that same determination in your husband's face many times. Truly, you are well matched." He reached out and took her hand, looking into her eyes earnestly. "You must return to him."

"No," Marian shook her head. "No, I must bring you back to England, so you can set everything right again."

"There is no way out of here," he told her. "You must leave me to my fate."

"But you are sick, my Lord," she insisted. "And surely you realise that the Sheriff of Nottingham is behind this? And behind him, your brother, Prince John? You cannot leave England in their hands."

"Yes, I know." Richard said softly, and suddenly seemed very old. "But you must leave me all the same." He patted her hand fondly. "Believe me, my dear, I am leaving England in the best possible hands. And your husband needs you."

"No," she repeated. "No." She could not, in all conscience, leave Richard without at least _trying_ to save him. How could they possibly fight against Prince John with no hope that Richard would return to depose him?

"Robin was my most trusted and best warrior," Richard ignored her protests. "But he buried his heart in the Holy Land, when he thought you lost to him."

Marian bowed her head, not wishing to meet Richard's piercing gaze. She felt discomforted every time someone spoke of Robin's grief for her.

"You saved my life, once, Marian, my child," he continued. "I must return the favour, and save yours by sending you back to him."

"But - "

"Marian," Djaq hissed urgently. They had stayed too long already.

"Leave," Richard commanded. "That is an order from your King."

Marian had never been blindly loyal, as Robin had, in fact she had criticised the King's actions and decisions more than once. But even she could not refuse a direct order from her sovereign. She nodded once, firmly, and rose to her feet.

"I leave the safekeeping of England to you," he said finally, sinking back into the shadows. "Please keep her safe."

"I will," she promised.

"Marian!" Djaq tugged at her arm urgently. "We must leave."

Nodding, Marian harshly brushed a tear from her eye with the back of her hand. She leaned down, emptied the tray she had carried in of food to take back out with her. And she left the cell with Djaq, her heart heavy with failure, and yet, with the anticipation that finally, she was going home.


	10. Chapter 9: Fall

**Chapter Nine: Fall**

* * *

_Outlaw's Camp, Sherwood Forest_

It was dawn; unwelcome light streamed in through the gaps in the tree canopy of Sherwood and slowly roused Robin from sleep. He was quite unwilling to wake, because with gaining consciousness, he lost Marian once again.

Robin never dreamed of her, for she did not belong in the dark. But sometimes, when the morning sun penetrated his slumber and he was surrounded by the beautiful red-gold of sunrise, she was there. In the few precious moments between sleep and awake, Marian was beside him, her dark curls spilling over her shoulders and a small smile on her face that was adoration and mockery in equal measure. Robin reached out to her but, as always, she disappeared just before their fingertips touched. And as always, Robin opened his eyes, blinked twice once and tried to banish the image from his mind.

He rose from his bunk and took a seat just outside the camp to take in the fresh morning air before Much appeared, as he did every day.

"Morning," Much greeted him, and Robin noticed that he appeared somewhat nervous.

"Mornin'" Robin replied without feeling.

"Breakfast?"

Robin shook his head. That was Much's cue in their morning ritual to leave, but instead he hesitated.

"What is it, Much?" Robin asked after a few moments of uneasy silence.

"Nothing," Much said a little too quickly. He seemed flustered. "I just wanted to say…well." He took a deep breath. "Happy Birthday, Mas-" Much visibly caught himself, and cleared his throat. "Robin."

His birthday. Robin didn't keep track of dates, but if Much said it was his birthday, then it must be so. It was no wonder his friend had been somewhat anxious, clearly he had been debating whether to not to mention it case Robin was reminded of his last birthday celebration.

Had it really been a whole year since they had been caught by those mercenaries in Nettlestone? Only one day less than that since they had begun the journey to the Holy Land, and all of the horror that found them there? One year since they had been stuck in that barn overnight, Robin thinking he had only hours to live, hearing Much tell him what an awful friend he had been, seeing the truth of it in Will, Djaq and John's faces as they had been unable to meet his dismissive gaze.

It had been the third worst day of his life.

Surely it had not been so long ago. But Robin could not deny that summer was indeed over. He saw it in the leaves of Sherwood which had begun to turn brown and brittle and fall to the ground with increasing speed. He felt it in the crisp morning air that awoke him from his dreams and forced him to face the day. He heard it in the birdsong which grew less frequent and would soon turn to the silence of winter. He realised with clarity that it was October, and autumn was well and truly upon them.

"Robin?" Much looked concerned by his lack of response and was clearly regretting saying anything. Robin, once again, felt guilty that his friends still felt the need to tip-toe around him, as if anything they said may set him off.

He forced a smile. "Thank you, Much."

Much clearly did not expect anything better, and satisfied enough, he went about his morning routine of fixing breakfast. He, Allan and John settled down around the campfire and chatted quietly as they ate, but Robin made no move to join them.

It dawned on him that as of that morning, he was twenty eight years old. A good enough age for an outlaw, he supposed, although still young for someone of his birth and health. But Robin felt like an old man. Eight and twenty, and his wife was dead, he had no heir, no lands, his King had disappointed him and his only friends in the world were afraid to speak to him, lest they upset his delicate sensibilities.

It was no way to live. Robin had been so consumed by his grief and sorrow that he had lost track of the time that had passed, of the rest of his life which was passing him by. Summer had come and gone, and he had not even noticed. He had thought he had been focussing his attention on his cause, but they had not made a large haul for longer than he cared to remember.

He was suddenly reminded of his father, who to Robin had always seemed ancient. Much had once told him that he remembered a Robert of Locksley who had been bright and full of life, who used to pat Much on the head and give him sweets, even though he was only the miller's son. Such a man was a stranger to Robin – he had only ever known a dour, grey-haired old Earl who had spent hours sitting by the fire pretending his son did not exist. Most of Robin's childhood exploits had been desperate plays for his father's attention, but it seemed the more he misbehaved, the more Lord Robert ignored him.

It had been a selfish grief, because it had meant that Robin had never been able to be part of it; to miss the mother he had never known by being allowed to share in her memory with the person who had loved her the most.

And yet he had made all of the same mistakes and become the man who, as a child, he swore he never would be. Lord Robert was cold and distant and loved his people from afar – Robin had been determined to be full of mirth and laughter and be _one_ of his people. But instead Robin had withdrawn and allowed his sadness to suck the joy from his men's hearts and the meaning from their cause.

Marian would be ashamed of him, he realised with sickening clarity.

Rising, Robin moved towards his men by the fire, resolving not to let any more time pass him by. The difference between him and his father would be that he would change his fate and not allow himself to waste away consumed by sorrow.

"Right, lads," he addressed them, with something of his former style. He helped himself to the porridge which was left in the cooking pot, his levity clearly bemusing Allan, John and Much. "The Sheriff has been quiet for a while and we still don't know why," he continued with a determination he had not felt for what seemed like an age.

"So it's time we took the fight back to them," he grinned. "Let's plan a raid."

* * *

_Road to Calais, France_

It was late afternoon as Marian led their small band on the road which would lead them back to England. They had not stopped riding all day, but no one had suggested that they stop - even just to rest the horses Tuck had acquired for them. Marian keenly felt the ache in her side where Guy's sword had pierced her, as it always did after the long hours of travelling. It was one thing to accept that the injury would always trouble her, but quite another to face that it may be a significant weakness.

But she refused to accept that, and so she led her horse at the front of their pack, Tuck less than a length behind her as if her bodyguard, Will and Djaq riding side by side a few lengths behind him, and Carter bringing up the rear, cautious of the road behind them.

They had kept to the main roads to avoid bandits, although Carter and Tuck still wore their Crusader robes which she hoped instilled fear in any would-be attackers, and all of them carried visible swords. Marian also wore a Saracen bow she had acquired in Acre, the bow itself pressed against her back and the string digging into her breastbone. She much preferred the English longbow she had carried as the Nightwatchman, and looked forward to obtaining another one. Or perhaps her old bow was still safe where Allan had hidden her costume, wherever than had been. He'd refused to tell her in case she'd been tempted to seek it out. She missed the feel of it in her hands – the recurve bows were smaller and perhaps better suited to her physique, but she'd spent years practicing with the longbow, building her strength in order to draw it properly and shoot better than any man, save Robin of course. Using a more compact bow felt like a backwards step.

Marian saw Will appear in her peripheral vision, drawing her out of her musings. Within a few moments he had drawn his horse level with hers.

"We'll be in England in a few days," he said without preamble, as was his way. "And in Nottingham a few days after that."

She smiled thinly and kept her eyes on the road ahead. "I know." The thought both thrilled and scared her.

"Djaq and I were thinking that perhaps we should let the others know that we are coming," Will pressed on. "We still have Lardner's mate, and can send a message."

Marian bit her lip and pondered for a moment. She had been worried about how Robin may react if she simply showed up in Sherwood, alive. It would perhaps help is he was pre-warned.

"I know you didn't want to send a message from the Holy Land," Will continued, obviously taking her silence as disagreement. "But we're almost home, it wouldn't be worth it to Robin to come charging off to find us. He'll wait."

"This is assuming that they're still alive at all," Marian said softly. In truth, they didn't know what had happened in the past year – whether they'd even made it back to England. Given Robin's propensity for trouble and the danger of their outlaw status, they could have been captured or killed any number of times. They could naturally suspect that the Sheriff was still alive, since who else would have been behind the King's capture? Or it could have been Guy, she supposed. Yet another complication.

"They're alive," Will reassured her, ever the optimist. "I'm sure of it."

"Very well then," she turned to Will, finally a genuine smile on her face. "You don't need my permission to send your pigeon."

Will ducked his head and seemed almost embarrassed. "I know," he replied. "But I still wanted to…check."

The fact that he had inflated Marian's pride slightly. She had become extremely close to Will and Djaq, in a way she never had when they'd been part of Robin's gang. Marian had found a kindred spirit in Djaq, someone who understood the particular challenges faced by being a women trying to step outside the roles the world expected them to fill. But it was more than that – she found it easy to talk to Djaq about anything; for she was extremely intelligent, well-read and insightful. The long days of Marian's recovery passed more quickly due to their long conversations and she found that whilst their views differed on a number of topics, they could always find a common ground, or at the very least, get the other to understand their position and reasoning.

It was not that Marian didn't also enjoy talking to Will, but it was stimulating to discuss and debate with Djaq – much as she had once done with Robin, who had always been more than willing to engage in conversation about societal issues. Of course with Robin the discussions had often turned to arguments, which was perhaps why Marian enjoyed Djaq's firm and passionate but always respectful and courteous manner, even if they disagreed.

Her friendship with Will was different, but no less deep. Will made her smile, made her heart feel full when he spoke of the old days when they were still children. When her father was still the Sheriff, when she and Robin were young and in love and thought that carefree existence would last forever, when Will himself was little more than a child but had been shy and thoughtful, and watched everything and everyone. It helped them both to speak of Dan and Luke Scarlett, of Robert of Locksley – of her own father. To remember long summers and May Day celebrations and fairs, when the only trouble in the world was when Robin would get them all into mischief. She cared deeply about Will, because he was honest and good and valued loyalty. Because he now treated her as if she was the leader of their small band of travellers, and deferred to her decisions.

In fact, quite unexpectedly, they all did. Even Carter looked to her for guidance and approval. She suspected it was because she had spoken directly to the King and heard his orders, and she had no doubt such deference would change once they returned to Sherwood and once again under Robin's leadership. Tuck remained enigmatic, but seemed genuine enough in his devotion to her, following what he had no doubt considered the path God had laid before him.

Marian shook herself back to reality, and realised that Will had moved away, back to Djaq's side following her approval of his plan. They spoke quietly to one another, no doubt discussing the message they were going to send. Looking up, Marian realised that the afternoon was fading, and that they would have to make camp soon. She could at least then blame the darkening sky and perhaps, the rest would alleviate the pain in her side.

Djaq stared at the empty parchment in her hands, and the quill which was poised to write, but as yet had failed to do so.

Will sat next to her around the campfire, deep in thought. "How about: _Marian alive, will be home within week_?"

"That sounds too confusing," Carter spoke up from his place across the fire. "I can't imagine how Robin would react to that."

Will seemed a bit put out. "What do you suggest, then?"

"Should we mention Marian at all?" Carter replied. "Robin may think it is a trick."

"He will recognise my handwriting," Djaq told him firmly. Robin would know that the note came from her.

"What if your pigeon is intercepted?" Tuck asked, the first time he had spoken to any of them all day. "It would not be advantageous for your enemy to know that she is alive."

Djaq gave him a hard look. "Even if she is…_intercepted_…I do not think it would be damning intelligence," she told him. "Surely they will find out she is alive sooner or later, once we return."

Carter scoffed. "Maybe not," he said with some levity. "Robin probably won't let her leave the camp."

Will gave a very small laugh beside her, and Djaq looked at him questioningly. He shrugged in return. "You know what he's like," he said to her.

Djaq certainly did, and remembered how protective Robin had been on her the first time Marian had been in the camp. But that was when her identity had been a secret – now that it was compromised, there was surely no need to keep her hidden.

"I cannot imagine the Lady Marian allowing herself to be kept from her cause, even by her husband," Tuck added.

Rather than appreciating his support, Djaq was irritated. "You give your opinion very freely, Tuck, considering you have known Marian for all of a few weeks." She found Tuck extremely unsettling. He seemed to be a religious fanatic, and Djaq had seen so many of them in her time of slavery. She didn't like to be reminded of those days and as a consequence she found Tuck to be an unwelcome imposition. She sometimes found him watching her when she was performing her morning prayers, and such rudeness aside, his study of her was intimidating. She didn't know if he was trying to learn from her, or was seeking a way to convert her. Either way, it irritated her no end.

Tuck, however, did not seem offended by her sharp words. "I only mean that the Lady Marian has far greater work to do and I foresee that she cannot be contained within an outlaw's camp."

"Greater work?" Djaq questioned him. Belief was one thing, but Tuck acted as if he was a sage or prophet.

"She is a warrior of God," Tuck replied simply.

"You seem very certain of that," Djaq said shortly. She had seen too many so-called warriors of God, and Tuck, his pale face illuminated in the firelight, seemed just as dangerous as any of them.

"Why should I not be?" Tuck asked, grinning.

Djaq gave him a hard look. "I do not think so highly of myself that I would presume to know the will of Allah," she told him. "And anyone who does think that way of their god seeks not to be a servant but a master."

"You are wise, mistress Djaq," Tuck seemed pleased rather than offended by her insinuation. "It would indeed be a fool who seeks to dictate the Lord's will. I am a follower only, but I do have faith in the signs He has left for us."

"Signs." Djaq gave Will a sceptical look, and he shrugged in response. He had often said that he was no scholar. He had his opinions, but only spoke them when he felt they were needed, and only those he felt the most passionate about. The poor. Friendship. Loyalty. Djaq knew that theology didn't give him much trouble.

"You are sceptical," Tuck continued, the same enigmatic smile on his face. "But consider this: the Lady Marian was fatally wounded once, and made a miraculous recovery," he argued. "And then appeared to die once more, only to be brought back again. What else would you call that if not a miracle?"

"A coincidence," Marian cut in before Djaq could reply, appearing by the campfire, bow slung over her shoulder and clearly none too impressed that they were discussing her. She took a seat and whilst Will and Carter had the decency to look abashed, even though they had not been involved in the conversation, Tuck seemed unconcerned and Djaq refused to look away.

"Marian…" Djaq began to explain, but stopped herself when she realised Marian clearly did not wish to discuss it.

"Marian, we're writing the note to Robin," Will spoke up beside her. "What do you think we should say?"

But Marian simply stared into the fire, poking the logs with a stick which caused them to crackle. "I don't know, Will," she answered softly. "I just don't know."

* * *

Marian waited until Will, Djaq and Carter had gone to sleep and only she and Tuck were left seated around the dying fire.

"I would appreciate it Tuck," she said, careful to keep her tone light, "if you would not talk about me when I am not there."

He regarded her for several moments before answering. "Would you like me to talk about you now that you are here?"

Her brow creased and she gave him an exasperated look. "No."

"I only ask because you seem burdened," he continued heedless to her disapproval. "I am a priest, my lady," he reminded her. "If you wish to make confession."

"No, thank you." They sat in silence for several minutes, until Marian could not help herself. "I just do not understand you, Tuck," she told him.

"How so, my lady?"

"You speak of me as if I were a soldier, when your own religious order would brand me a heretic, or at the very least, a lowly woman unworthy of such importance."

"I have told you before, I answer only to God," he said. "And if God has put his faith in you, who am I to question it? After all, was it not the women who were the most faithful following the death of our Lord – were they not the first to believe in His resurrection?"

Marian was silent for several moments, and studied his face to see if there was any hint of mockery. But there was none – only passion and belief. Marian knew all too well that such faith could be immensely useful, or incredibly dangerous. She sincerely hoped it was the former, and she had not made a terrible mistake by allowing him to accompany them back to Sherwood. "You are a strange man, Tuck."

"I know that my...religious fervour makes you uneasy, my Lady," Tuck continued, bowing his head slightly. "But do you not believe that you are an instrument of God, as are we all?

"No."

He smiled. "But do you not act according to His will?"

"I act according to my conscience..."

"It is the same thing."

Marian suddenly felt very tired. "Then God is just another man who is making decisions for me. Am I never to be allowed to make them myself?"

Tuck regarded her for a moment before replying. "If you were – do you know what those decisions would be?"

"No," Marian replied honestly. "But at least they would be my own."

"I see such sadness in you, my Lady," Tuck told her softly. "You have been through so much for one so young. But it is adversity and struggle that makes us who we truly are, and who God intended us to be. You have a great strength within you," he added with admiration. "The world tells you that such strength is unnatural and unwomanly - but it is _because_ of that strength that you are here now, alive, not despite it. You could be a leader of men, a beacon which inspires others in their despair."

"You place great expectations on me," she told him carefully, flattered by his praise, but fearful of it as well. "I do not know if I can live up to them," she admitted. "In the past I have worked in secret, helped others the best I could whilst keeping my identity unknown." She shook her head slowly and stared into the fire. "I never wanted to be a leader, or a symbol or a hero. That's Robin's area."

Tuck regarded her for several long moments, and she could feel him seeking to penetrate her very soul, to look past the barriers she had built and replied upon for so many years.

"One may stare into the light, until one becomes the light," he recited.

Marian sighed and looked away. "You speak in proverbs and riddles, Tuck," she told him. "I do not like it."

"It is easy to work alone, when it is only your own life you are risking," he continued, ignoring her irritated words. "It is much harder to lead, to make the decisions over the lives of others – that is why you do not want it."

Marian did not say anything, for it was the truth. And yet she had felt a slight exhilaration, even pride, at the leadership role she seemed to have taken on. But she did not wish to share such thoughts with anyone, let alone Tuck, even with the confidentiality of the confessional. Sometimes, Marian thought she could not even share the secrets of her heart with God.

Tuck rose, and gave her a small bow before retreating to the darkness to say his lengthy prayers before sleep. Marian remained by the fire, staring into the flames in contemplation, her fingers resting on the handle of the Saracen sword which was always at her side. Wondering.

* * *

A/N: "One may stare into the light, until one becomes the light" is from _Kingdom of Heaven_


	11. Chapter 10: The Phony King of England

**Chapter 10: The Phony King of England**

* * *

_Westminster Palace, London_

Guy's boots echoed loudly against the cobbled stone floor of the palace. A servant had led him to the cloisters which surrounded one of the palace gardens, but had not ventured outside themselves. He had been summoned by Prince John himself, his first audience even though he had been in London for many weeks. Guy felt extremely foolish walking aimlessly through the covered walkways that edged the carefully tended gardens, and whilst he could see several servants meticulously attending to them, collecting leaves, examining branches, gauging the temperature of the earth, he could not see the Prince.

Eventually, after it seemed like he had almost done a full rotation of the cloister, Guy saw him, gazing out at the gardens through one of the arcades, his face half in shadow from the arch above.

The Prince was of average height but very lean, his slim shoulders and build perhaps making the man seemed shorter than he actually was. He had an angular, sharp nose and what seemed to be rather small eyes which darted about taking in everything and everyone around him, including each and every servant and Guy himself. John also had a crop of fine golden curls which framed his face and seemed to pick up the light when he moved his head. Guy was of course no judge of handsomeness, but he had heard the servant girls speak of John with admiration – whether this had to do with his appearance or his power as Regent he did not know – but they had seemed to like those curls.

It was with some trepidation that Guy approached - all he knew was that Vaisey had sent him to London to provide the Prince with an update regarding Richard's capture, but he simply couldn't shake the feeling that he may have been offered up as a sacrificial lamb, should the Prince not be mollified by the action. After all, Vaisey had promised to kill Richard, not imprison him.

But Guy put any fear aside and bowed deeply. "Your Highness," he addressed him, trying to neutralise his Northern accent. Londoners sounded somewhat different to those in Nottinghamshire, and Guy had found he'd immediately single himself out as from the north the moment he opened his mouth. There'd been some snide remarks flung his way in the taverns, not that Guy cared for the opinions of drunken fools, and regardless he'd made them rethink trifling with him further. But Guy couldn't very well shove the Prince's face in a bowl of soup or punch him in the gut if he impugned him, so he tried to keep his accent mellow, just in case.

"Guy of Gisborne," he introduced himself when the Prince did not reply. "You sent for me?"

Prince John seemed to remain in deep contemplation for several moments, before turning to Guy and starting ever so slightly, as if he had not noticed him standing there. If it was a feint to put Guy ill at ease, it worked.

"Sir Guy of Gisborne," Prince John said finally, and smiled with what appeared to be some warmth. "You come at last."

"Sire?" Guy was confused and somewhat anxious. "Your servants have only just summoned me…"

Prince John smiled again, wider this time, his lips parting to reveal very straight teeth. "Do not be concerned, Sir Guy," he told him. "I meant only that I have been thinking for quite some time that we should meet. You are after all, the man who has twice failed to kill my dear brother."

Guy found himself holding his breath, unsure of how to respond. The Prince's tone had been light, almost conversational, and the comment did not seem like an accusation.

"My Lord, I…"

Prince John waved a dismissive hand. "I told you not to worry – I am not about to order your death, Sir Guy."

Guy allowed himself to breathe again, although he did not fully relax.

"It is true you have failed me," the Prince continued in the same light tone. "But it is no easy task, to kill a King, and it would not be advisable on my part to surround myself with men so comfortable with regicide. Do you not agree?"

"I'm sure you are correct, Sire," Guy was able, somehow, to formulate a response.

"Naturally, there is your Sheriff," the Prince continued, "he would have no such qualms about dispatching his sovereign. That is why you are here, Sir Guy, and he is in Nottingham."

"Why _am_ I here, my Lord?" Guy asked.

"To tell me of the progress in the North, naturally," John replied. He began walking away from Guy, down the walkway and Guy obediently followed. "The tax collections in the northern shires seem to have been more successful lately," the Prince continued. "So long as they do not take the route directly through Sherwood."

"There has not been a direct attack on Nottingham Castle for some time," Guy informed him. Of course, he could not take credit for that, because the Outlaws seemed to confine themselves to picking off travellers in the woods, rather than venture in the town itself. Ever since – but Guy clamped down on that thought before it could jump into its mind. He'd promised himself that he would close the door on that particular event, and move on. Of course, putting that into practice was proving somewhat more difficult.

"I have heard the people saying that Robin Hood has lost his heart," Prince John said casually. "He is no longer the hero he once was."

Guy felt his own heart constrict in panic, and wondered briefly if Prince John knew the reason why Hood seemed to have lost his will, or he had read something his own expression. But studying Prince John quickly, he sensed no accusation, no knowing tone – it remained light and casual.

"He is…not as active as he once was," Guy spoke very carefully, conscious of each word. "His gang have barely been sighted in Nottingham, in fact." He paused for a moment, and then curiosity got the better of him. "If you don't mind me asking, Sire, what else have you heard the people say?"

Prince John laughed then, a thin, dangerous sound which Guy couldn't help but compare to a snake's hiss. "Vaisey told me that you were brawn over brains," he said, clearly amused. "It is a figure of speech, Sir Guy," Prince John explained when Guy made no answer. "_I_ have not heard the people say anything. I have people to do my listening for me."

Guy felt his cheeks burn with shame. "Of course, Sire, forgive me."

"You need not apologise for amusing your king," Prince John told him. "Now tell me of my dear brother," he changed to subject.

Guy complied, explaining their plot in detail, the pact with the Duke Leopold in Austria, and his promise that Richard would be kept under heavy guard to discourage any rescue attempts.

"Is that all?" Prince John questioned, looking at Guy even as he walked half a step behind him, perhaps correctly sensing that his report was slightly incomplete.

Guy felt he could not possibly lie to the Prince, not when he would be the next King with the power to grant title and lands and, naturally, the right to take them all away.

"Duke Leopold informed us that your mother, Eleanor of Aquitaine, has written to him demanding the release of her son."

The Prince's mouth twitched unpleasantly. "That is not unexpected."

Guy took a deep breath. "She also wrote to warn him that if Richard's continued imprisonment was in any way connected with or condoned by your Highness, then she intended to disown you. She…she indicated that he should exercise caution when choosing allies."

Prince John stopped his ambling, sighing as he leant against the nearest arcade, once again gazing out into the garden in contemplation.

"Mother always did like Richard best." There was a barely-concealed hate in his tone. "Such was my misfortune of not being the first-born," he added with clear longing, turning to Guy in what seemed like a conspiratorial pose. "The second son is the spare, never expected to actually accomplish anything. To have all the promise of power and greatness so close, and yet prevented from grasping it. And I was not even that, with four brothers before me."

"I imagine being a younger son is something like being a dispossessed lord," Prince John continued after a brief pause, gazing back out at the garden again. "But the cards have fallen in our favour, haven't they, Sir Guy?" he added. "We have taken the inheritance that fate wished to deny us. Whether we shall keep a hold of that bequest remains to be seen."

"I would give my life to ensure that you do keep it, Sire," Guy told him. He wasn't sure if that was the truth, but it sounded like the sort of thing that should please a Prince.

But to Guy's surprise John looked back at him, his upper lip curled into a sneer. "Loyalty," he shook his head and appraised Guy with derision. "It is a repulsive thing, Sir Guy."

"My Lord?"

"Loyalty for loyalty's sake, I mean," the Prince continued. "It blinds your judgement – makes you weak. You should be loyal to me because of what I can give you in return – Vaisey a least, understands this. Were another to offer him better terms, or more power, he would take it in an instant."

"You do not want my allegiance, Sire? My devotion to you as my King?" Guy was confused.

"That is not the way the world works, Sir Guy," Prince John spoke to him as if he were a child. "It is better to understand that. My brother does not – he believes he is anointed by God and therefore all shall love and devote themselves to him. That is why he will never see betrayal coming."

"But I know that people all have a price," he continued. "That they all reach a point where they would sell their own family to achieve some selfish goal." That seemed to amuse him, and Prince John smiled the same unsettling smile. "Loyalty is a falsehood – a contract which can - and will - be broken as soon as one party stops being of use to the other."

"And Vaisey is still of use to you?" Guy couldn't help but ask, for the question had been forming in the back of his mind for some time.

"For now," Prince John told him, his amused smile clearly indicting that he knew exactly what was on Guy's mind. "As you know, I have made a pact with him to ensure that he retains control over the northern shires. And he in return, although he has failed to kill my brother, he has at least gotten him out of the way. In fact, the situation will give me a legitimate excuse to raise taxes that not even Richard's supporters can argue with."

"And what can I do for you, my Lord?" Guy asked, desperate to prove his worth.

"Wait," Prince John told him. "And when I have use for you, I will call on you."

"I am yours to command."

"Good." Prince John nodded.

Guy knew when he was being dismissed, and so gave Prince John a bow and began to walk back down the corridor, footsteps echoing on the stones.

"Know this, Sir Guy," Prince John called after him, and Guy turned back to see the man's face hard and his eyes cold. "I would raze Nottingham to the ground if it gave me pleasure – pact or no pact." The Prince blinked at looked away, in an instant serene once again. "Remember that."

"Yes, Sire." Guy bowed again, and took his leave.

* * *

_Trip Inn, Nottingham_

Allan sat alone at his usual table in the corner of the 'Trip, experimentally plucking stings on the lute he had just purchased from a passing trader. He'd bargained him down, but it had still cost Allan almost all of his month's pay. Now he wouldn't be able to afford those new boots he wanted, but on seeing the simple but fine craftsmanship of the instrument, he knew he had to have it.

It had been Robin's idea, surprisingly, for them each to take a small portion of the money they collected from their efforts each week. In the past he'd been adamant that they give all of that they acquired to the poor and live entirely off the land. To do otherwise, he argued, made them little more than common thieves. But while Robin had seemed to sustain himself off of the worship from the people, it had never made Allan's belly feel less empty or fix the holes in his socks.

But a change had taken place on their return from the Holy Land – Robin had all but stepped down as the leader of their gang, claiming that they should all make the decisions as a true team. How much of Robin's change of heart was a true desire to improve morale and how much had to do with the time he seemed to need to wallow in his grief was unclear. But Allan felt on the whole it had been a positive change. They discussed their plans in detail and when there was disagreement, the opinion of the majority carried the day, rather than Robin handing out orders without explanation as he'd once been prone to do.

And each outlaw took a very small amount from the haul each week to spend as he wished. Robin never spent his share and Allan suspected he put it back into the store, Little John sent almost all of his to his family and Much seemed to devote his to those mysterious trips he kept taking. Only Allan seemed be at a loss of what to do with his share, which he found somewhat comic considering it was the lack of coin which in part had contributed to his betrayal of the gang. But now he would rather die than turn on them again, and had their trust as well as money in his pocket and yet sometimes he felt more miserable now than he had then.

Allan plucked a light tune on the lute, the memory in his fingers from what seemed like a lifetime ago. He'd grown up in the house of the local Earl at Guildford and had been taught the instrument by his mother, a kitchenmaid who'd been the daughter of a minstrel herself. By the age of five he'd learned to play several tunes and sing, much to the delight of the household and when he was eight he was permitted to entertain the Earl and his family. Afterwards, the Earl patted him on the head and told him what a good job he'd done, the pleased look in his lord's bright blue eyes forever imprinted on Allan's mind. When he'd returned to his mother, she had cried with happiness and pride and held him tightly.

But she'd died less than a year later bringing Tom into the world, and Allan lost the will to recite tales of legend and romance and happy endings. The Earl himself died when Allan was thirteen and the widowed lady of the house threw him and his brother out without a second thought. He'd had to leave his beautiful lute behind, not that he had played it in years.

They'd moved to London and gotten by through the art of pickpocketing and the occasional con, although when Tom was old enough he'd taken off with his band of lads. Allan had a hard run after that, trying to get used to being a single conman when most of his repertoire was directed to a double act. He ended up relieving a local craftsman of a lute and found a job of sorts playing at a local pub in Cheapside. It didn't pay, but the patrons often made requests and gave him a few coins to recite their favourite ballad. One of the barmaids took a particular shine to him, and he lived with her for some time.

Thinking back, Allan couldn't quite remember her name, although he had been quite infatuated with her. He remembered her dark green eyes and wavy blonde hair, her buxom figure and warm smile which was so different to the false, flirtatious grin she gave the customers – her true smile she reserved for Allan alone. He often played for her in their small room above the pub, singing a sweet tune of love and devotion as she rested her head against his shoulder. But one day Tom had come back begging for his help with a new scheme in the West Country and Allan couldn't say no to the prospect. But he'd left the lute with her as a parting gift, and had played her favourite song one last time.

It was that tune of love he played now. "Do you like that, eh, Bash?" he addressed the small pigeon on the table before him, pecking at a small pile of grains he had placed there for her.

Bashirah was Lardner's mate; the one treasure from the Holy Land Allan had. Djaq had given him the cage before they'd left, telling him the birds name and how to care for her. If ever there was an emergency, Djaq had said, they could use the pigeons to send one message. Bashirah came with them to England as she would easily be able to find her way back to Acre, and Lardner stayed with Will and Djaq in the hopes that he would be able to find the outlaws camp once again, having flown the journey before, or at least seek out his mate somehow.

But mostly, she was a comfort to Allan, a reminder of people who loved him, even though they were far away. Bashirah cocked her head from one side to the other and cooed.

"Ah, see, it's pretty isn't it?" he addressed her, playing a few more notes. "Bet it reminds you of Lardner, eh?" He smiled wistfully. "Bet you miss 'im – well, I know how you feel old girl."

Bashirah hopped forward and nipped Allan's finger. "Ow, alrigh' – I'll stop." He put down the lute on the table.

"You shouldn't take orders from a bird, Allan-A-Dale." Susie, the Trip's barmaid, appeared at his side, flipping her blonde hair. "It's strange."

"Been taking orders from birds all me life," he told her. "Including you," he swatted at her behind playfully and she giggled, pushed his hand away and putting a pint of ale in front of him.

"Spent my last penny on this thing," he indicated the lute.

"Compliments of the house," Susie told him, and sat down on the seat opposite. "Boss is grateful for your lot chasing away those thieves from last week."

"All part of the service," he said dismissively. For a moment, her hair glinting in the firelight, Susie reminded Allan of his London barmaid – she had the same smile.

"He's not going to be too happy about that bird," Susie continued, giving Bashirah a distasteful look. "If you weren't one of Robin Hood's men…"

"But I am, so he can lay off," Allan lent back in his chair. "Plus, she's harmless, aren't you Bash?"

Susie laughed again and shook her head. "Why do you bring her in here, anyway?"

Allan shrugged. "Just in case, I suppose." It was more a comfort than anything – someone to talk to, as if just by speaking to the bird she could relay the message to Will and Djaq.

"And you were playing her music," Susie continued, still amused. "I tell you Allan – it's strange. You should be playing music for me!"

Allan gave her a crafty grin. "Would you like me to?"

She shrugged. "If you wanted to, I wouldn't object. I certainly wouldn't bite your hand," she added saucily.

Laughing, Allan was about to pick up the lute again when he heard a commotion from the other side of the room. Several patrons near the door were swearing loudly and swatting at something in the air. Susie stood and rushed over, trying to calm them down.

"It's a ruddy bird!" one man exclaimed, and sure enough, there was a small grey pigeon flapping around, darting between hands that were trying to shoo it back out the door. Allan rose immediately.

"Don't hurt 'im!" he cried, dimly aware that Bashirah was fluttering behind. He reached out his hands, and as if sensing a friendly, the bird landed on his outstretched palms. Allan felt his heart beat wildly; it was Lardner. And sure enough, there was a small piece of parchment tied to the bird's leg. He undid the string with shaking fingers, but felt the eyes of the entire pub on him. As friendly to the outlaws as the Trip was, he couldn't afford to draw to much attention to himself.

Lardner clasped in one hand, and the small scrap of parchment in the other, Allan ran as fast as he could back to the camp in Sherwood. Robin, Much and John were all there, discussing the plans for their upcoming raid when Allan arrived, almost crashing into the cooking pot in his excitement.

But he was out of breath from the run it took several minutes for him to speak, gesturing with Lardner until the bird grew upset with the treatment and forced himself free from Allan's grip. Bashirah, who had followed him back to camp like always, perched herself beside Lardner on a nearby tree.

"Lardner…." Allan tried to explain between lungfuls of air as he all but collapsed on a nearby bunk. "Message…can't…." Eventually he just held out the note to Robin, who took it from him and read the message. Robin blinked twice and then seemed to read it again, holding the edges of the small parchment between each thumb and forefinger.

"What does it say?" Much finally asked.

Robin cleared his throat but did not look up. "It's from Will and Djaq," he told them. "They're coming home."

Allan grinned from ear to ear – he'd figured that much. Much let out a whoop of delight and John banged his staff against the ground in a clear an expression of glee. Only Robin did not seem filled with joy, in fact, he had gone very pale, his eyes darting back and forth as he appeared to read the short message over and over.

"What is it Robin?" Allan asked. "Bad news?" For the first time, he wondered whether Will and Djaq were returning because something terrible had happened.

"No," Robin answered, his voice catching with emotion, his hands holding the small sheet of parchment taut until it could not withstand the pressure and ripped in half.

"Marian's alive," he said finally. "She…she's coming home with them."

The camp immediately fell silent. Allan looked at Much, his mouth agape and for once in his life clearly at a loss for words, at Little John, whose entire face lit up with happiness even as he shook his head in wonder, and Robin, whose fists were still clenched around the now two pieces of parchment, his knuckles white, a faraway look in his eyes.

Only Allan found a voice to speak; the only word suitable for such a situation.

"Blimey."


	12. Chapter11:Getting the Band Back Together

**Chapter 11: Getting the Band Back Together**

* * *

_English Channel_

Carter inhaled the sea air deeply, revelling in the crisp wind blowing through his hair and whistling around his ears. Perhaps it was his imagination, but it tasted like home; it tasted like England. The cliffs which stood tall in the distance were certainly not his imagination, the white chalk unmistakable even though he had never before lain eyes upon them.

None of them had sailed from Dover, for the route to the Holy Land left from Portsmouth, stopping briefly in Italy before crossing the Mediterranean to Palestine. Their return journey, however, had included the detour to Bavaria, and so their path back to England had been through France and across the Channel from Calais. They had briefly considered visiting Aquitaine with the hopes of an audience with Queen Eleanor, to give her firsthand the news of her son. Marian, particularly, had seemed torn on the subject, but had eventually told them that it was too far out of their way, that they had delayed long enough and needed to return to England to further the cause there. And as had become their habit, they acquiesced to Marian's decision.

She was beside him on the deck of the merchant ship on which they had purchased passage, her eyes too on the white cliffs of Dover. Carter was never quite sure of what Marian was thinking, as she hid her emotions well, but her sheer joy and relief at the first glimpse of England was plain upon her face. He thought that she may weep a little (Carter certainly felt like doing do) but her eyes remained dry even as they fixed themselves on the horizon.

Will and Djaq stood next to Marian and they also did not speak, although Carter saw Will take Djaq's hand and squeeze it tightly. Tuck was below, and Carter was at least pleased that he was for once not imposing himself on their party.

"I never thought I'd see home again," Carter said to break the silence, for he needed to share his joy with them. After the Sheriff had stabbed him, and Carter had felt his life bleed away as his blood soaked into the sand, he had faced the reality of his own death, alone and so far from home. When Djaq had found him, he had been so far gone he'd thought she was Saint Michael, her short hair silhouetted by the setting sun.

"None of us did," Marian replied softly, and Carter thought perhaps her thoughts were aligned with his. "They are beautiful," she added, her eyes on the cliffs which grew closer with the cresting of each wave which was broken by the bow of the ship.

"I imagine Sherwood will look even more beautiful," Carter said, a smile forming as he thought of the dense green trees, the flowing streams and the dark brown earth of the forest which he had missed so much amid the sand and dry, hot air of the Holy Land. During his weeks of convalescence, he'd dreamed of the woods where he'd found a reason to live again, where Robin had helped him unbury his heart. He found that will once more in his sickbed, and now at the sight of his homeland he ached with happiness. .

"Yes," Marian agreed, but she seemed less certain about it. "I hope…that everything works out."

Carter surmised she must be anxious about returning to a land where those in power thought her dead and would no doubt try to rectify the situation when they found out she was not. "At least you won't have to worry about Gisborne," he interjected, trying to comfort her.

Marian looked at him quizzically. "Why is that?"

Carter blinked. "Well..." he began, "I would assume Robin has taken care of him."

Marian visibly bristled. "I hope not."

Carter looked over at Will and Djaq, but they seemed unsurprised by this information. They knew Marian better than Carter did, who still found the lady an enigma. At times she seemed serene and level-headed, but he still remembered the fierceness of her right hook. "Robin believes him to be your murderer," he reminded her.

"Robin doesn't believe in killing," she replied somewhat shortly. "You know that. I would hate to think he would abandon his principles to avenge me."

He saw Will and Djaq exchange a very brief, knowing look, which did not go unnoticed by Marian.

"What is it?" she asked them.

Will turned away and cleared his throat, but Djaq kept her eyes on Marian, something like pity in her gaze. Carter leaned forward slightly, eager himself to hear what she had to say. Robin, after all, had been the one who preached against revenge, and had himself helped Carter realise that it was not the correct way to remember his slain brother. But his blame had been misdirected at Robin – Gisborne was actually guilty and so to Carter his death would be righteous, not revenge.

"In the cave, after Gisborne stabbed you…the first time," Djaq began after a long silence, "we thought you were dead."

Marian furrowed her brow, but made no comment and allowed Djaq to speak.

"The traitor Pitts had led the Sheriff right to us," she continued evenly. "And there were dozens of guards who had us surrounded," Djaq continued. "Will and Allan were…not yet back to camp."

Will cleared his throat again and looked slightly ashamed, but Djaq ignored him.

"It was only myself, John and Much…we thought we were making a last stand," she told them. "And then Robin came out of the cave and he…he lost control." She took a deep breath and closed her eyes, clearly distressed by the memory. "He slaughtered them, Marian – we all did," she added. "I had never seen him like that – like a soldier, like he had no soul, or conscience. As if he didn't care if he died, too."

"Oh." Marian was clearly troubled by the information.

"He wasn't like that in the Holy Land," Will spoke up, clearly trying to reassure her. "When he thought you had died. He was determined to keep fighting."

"So…I do not think he would have killed Gisborne," Djaq added.

Carter was more confused than ever. "I do not understand why you are so concerned about Gisborne," he said, exasperated. "Do you not want the man who has almost killed you – twice – to be brought to justice?" he asked Marian.

"Revenge isn't justice," Marian said very quietly. She looked more disturbed than ever, a small frown marring her face and her eyes glassy as she looked straight ahead, still fixed on the cliffs which drew ever closer.

"You have a forgiving heart, Marian," he said finally, astounded by her kindness towards a man who had taken so much from her.

She was silent for several long moments, and did not seem pleased by the compliment. "Not really," she said finally, before retreating back into the hold of the ship.

Carter looked to Will and Djaq for an explanation, but found none.

* * *

_London_

The streets of London were dark, but that seemed to suit Guy. He knew he cut an imposing figure and so did not fear the bandits and thieves who lurked in the narrow alleyways as he passed by. The stench of the city still bothered him and despite many weeks he had not gotten used to the cramped housing, the human and animal waste in the streets and the bustle of people who seemed not to care about their surroundings. He was not inexperienced in human suffering or the underbelly of society, but London unnerved him. Guy found himself thinking fondly of Locksley with its mere dozens of small but clean homes and the vague smell of birch from the woods that bordered the village.

It was strange, as he had always thought of Locksley as a mere patch of earth, a name, something to possess. He never really thought he would find a home there, at least not without…

But putting that aside, he realised that he'd been at Locksley almost seven years, longer than he had ever lived anywhere. It meant something more to him than just a part of Hood's heart that he had taken for his own – it represented the only stability in his entire life. He was not sleeping in another man's bed, eating his food, looking after his servants; all of those things were Guy's, now. He had the claim of time upon them.

Guy was lost in thought as wandered the streets, until he found himself once again at Westminster Palace. It had been days since he'd met with Prince John, and his presence had not been requested again. And yet Guy couldn't bring himself to leave. As much as he disliked London, and missed Nottinghamshire, there was a freedom in the city he had not felt for a long while. To be out from under Vaisey's thumb had been quite a relief, given him time to clear his head.

The Abbey was across the street, lit dimly by torches around the tall walls and Guy paused momentarily. He imagined the monks inside, attending to their prayers, doing the Lord's work by simple candlelight. Guy had not been inside a church since his aborted wedding day, although he longed to have the courage to cross the threshold, to have a priest hear his sins and grant absolution. But he knew that it would not be enough – not after all he had done.

He turned away from the church and walked down to the riverbank, until the waters of the Thames lapped quietly against the toes of his boots. It was foolish to think of forgiveness when he had come to the city with murder on his mind.

Prince John had all but forbidden him from killing Vaisey, although how he had known that was Guy's intent he wasn't sure. Perhaps he considered it inevitable, given his speech on loyalty, that the lieutenant would always turn on the captain if given enough time. In fact, he Prince's words had reinforced the turn of Guy's own mind in the recent months.

_Loyalty is a falsehood which will be broken as soon as one party stops being of use to the other_ the Prince had said. And what use had Vaisey been to him? He'd given him Locksley, and power to a certain extent, membership among the Black Knights. But he had also belittled him, made him look foolish in front of others and forced him to go against his instincts and conscience more than once. Vaisey was a means to an end, and he felt as if he had finally reached that end.

Guy wondered, not for the first time, what would have happened if he'd killed the Sheriff when Marian had asked him to. Would he be in the Vaisey's position now, in control of the north, Marian as his bride? But of course, that had been a trick, a ruse to get Guy to do what she could not.

He'd buried his grief and guilt at Marian's death deep within him in an effort not to feel – all that he allowed himself was bitter resentment. He could have saved her – saved them both, if she had made a different choice. If she had chosen him. Instead he was no better off than before, still Vaisey's lackey with no real power of his own, except over the serfs of Locksley who did not need or ask for his help or guidance as their lord. Their love also belonged to another - a selfish, conceited man who played the hero and yet brought destruction upon everyone he met.

Everything, Guy concluded, that had happened could ultimately be lain at Hood's door. He had seduced Marian with his charm and smiles and clever words, had preyed upon her good nature, had twisted her kindness and sympathy for the poor into serving his own ends. Guy was angry at Marian for rejecting him, for betraying him, for not loving him, but he _hated_ Hood for corrupting her.

When he'd first returned from the Holy Land, Guy's grief and guilt had been palpable, and he would have let Hood kill him, to put him out of his misery. But the months had passed and Guy had replaced his grief with anger, with a drive to obtain the power he'd sacrificed so much for and had not yet been able to achieve. If he had the chance to kill Hood, to exact revenge upon him for turning Marian into a weapon against him, for putting her in the situation where she'd faced Guy down in Acre, he would take it, and hope that it would be enough.

That's all he had left. That, and the hope of becoming more than just a lord of a small northern shire, more than just a Sheriff's man.

For Prince John had called him _Sir Guy_, almost with respect, and even when he had laughed at him it was not with derision. John's laugh had almost seemed like a reward for amusing him, an encouragement to further elicit his good grace. If Guy was to find true power and influence, it would be through Prince John, in ensuring that he became King and knew Guy's part in helping him to the throne.

It was almost – _almost_ - with pleasure that Guy gazed out across the dark water before him. If one stood by the river for long enough, he reflected, it may change its course. And he was intent that it would change in his direction.

* * *

_Sherwood Forest_

Their gang of five walked through Sherwood in silence, keenly aware that they had no knowledge of the state of affairs in Nottingham or the forest. It was Robin Hood's turf, so to speak, but that did not eliminate the danger of running foul of some less than savoury outlaws or even the Sheriff's patrol guards who occasionally raided the woods.

Will knew Sherwood better than any of them, and so he led the party, Djaq at his side. Marian was behind them, flanked by Tuck and Carter, both of whom, he noticed, already had their swords drawn, just in case. Marian herself seemed agitated, fingers running across the string of her bow which was slung across her shoulder, eyes darting into the trees. Will could feel Djaq's excitement which matched his own, the anticipation that they would be home amongst their friends again, with Robin, Much and John and most especially Allan.

And yet he and Djaq were returning together. He glanced sideways, but as ever, she seemed determined and focussed. If she was apprehensive about the upcoming reunion, she did not show it.

"It feels good to be back in the forest again," he murmured to her, noting her smile even as she kept her eyes on the path ahead.

"Sometimes I feel as if it could not have been a whole year since we last saw it," she replied just as softly. "And yet other times it feels like a lifetime."

"A year." Sometimes Will didn't quite believe it himself. "It was the 14th of October last week" he added after a moment.

Djaq glanced very quickly at him, smiled again, and then looked away. "I noted the date."

"You didn't say anything?" But Will was pleased, not accusatory. It had been one of the happiest days of his life; hearing Djaq tell him that she loved him. But he'd felt foolish to bring the anniversary of the date up, they were not, after all, married. It was something that they never discussed, content just to be together with no expectations or restrictions of a standard courtship. They were not a standard couple. That, and to be married under either one of their religions one of them would likely need to convert. Will would never ask that of Djaq and in truth he did not know enough about her faith to make the decision for himself.

"I do not need a date to remind me of that night," Djaq answered after a brief silence.

Will smiled. "Neither do I."

The rustling of leaves silenced them both and Will halted, drawing his axe and holding it ready in his hand. Beside him, Djaq silently drew her sword and pointed to the dense bushes to the north-east of their position. Will glanced behind him and saw both Carter and Tuck creep towards the direction Djaq indicated as Marian notched an arrow in her bow.

There was another noise from the opposite direction and Will spun around, placing himself between it and Marian. They were still a way from the camp and so could not be sure who was lurking in the bushes. But it appeared they had them surrounded, and Will heard one final noise from the dense branches of a nearby oak tree.

"Show yourselves!" Tuck called out, brandishing his sword.

"If you insist!" came a familiar-sounding voice, and in an instant Robin had dropped from the oak tree, drawn back an arrow in his bow and pointed it directly at Tuck's head.

By the time Will had turned back around, Little John, Allan and Much had appeared from the surrounding shrubbery, each carrying their own weapons, ready to strike.

Allan was the first to lower his bow. "It's you!" he exclaimed. "Bloody hell, we thought you were the Sheriff's men!"

"What gave us away?" Djaq asked wryly, sheathing her sword.

"We've been tracking them," Much explained, looking at them one by one in what only could be described as wonder. "They can't have been more than ten miles away and we couldn't exactly see clearly in those bushes."

"It's you!" Allan exclaimed again, and before Will knew it he pushed roughly past Carter and ran to them, almost knocking both he and Djaq over in a fierce embrace. "We got the message from Lardner, but…"

Will returned the hug with affection, patting Allan on the back. "It's us," he confirmed.

He looked over at the rest of the group, however, and saw that they were all standing around awkwardly, as if they did not have Allan's courage. And then Will realised they were looking at Marian; all waiting to embrace her but not daring to do so until Robin had the chance.

Robin had lowered his bow, although it was still grasped in his hand. Will noticed that his knuckles gripped the curve very tightly, and his face was pale. He was staring at Marian as if he was seeing a ghost, and perhaps in his mind, he was. Tuck stepped away to clear the path to Marian although Robin did not acknowledge the action nor move at all. Much's eyes flickered between Robin and Marian and Will and Djaq, his feet making small contradictory movements, as if he wanted to go to all of them at once. Little John leant against his staff and shot a quizzical glance at Tuck. Carter brushed at his robes from where Allan had pushed him in the dirt, and seemed annoyed and yet interested in how the scene was going to play out. Will sought Djaq's hand and it found his immediately, squeezing his fingers tightly.

They were all silent as they waited for something to happen, unable or unwilling to intervene. But Robin stared at Marian, and Marian, who had put the arrow back in her quiver and strung the bow across her back, stared back at him, as if neither of them were capable of making the first move.

Eventually, Robin swallowed heavily and took the slow steps over to where she stood, stopping less than a foot away from her. Marian looked up at him and smiled ever so slightly but Robin did not return it. He brought up his free hand and hesitantly traced her cheek with his fingers, as if checking to make sure she wasn't an apparition.

Marian's smile widened. "Hello, Robin," she said softly.

And quite suddenly it was as if the dam broke. Robin's bow dropped to the ground and he all but collapsed into her arms, his face burying itself in her shoulder, hands holding her tightly about the waist and his body visibly shaking with what could only be assumed were sobs of happiness and relief. Marian closed her eyes and her hands cradled Robin's head, stroking the hair at the base of his neck.

The whole thing suddenly felt very voyeuristic. Will cleared his throat and looked away. "We should go," he told Djaq softly, and she nodded although he noticed her eyes were very bright and she blinked several times rapidly.

"Yes…yes," Much spoke up as he saw Will, Djaq and Allan begin to move off. "Come on, you lot, back to camp." He nudged Carter along. "Oh, it's you Carter," he said to him, halting momentarily to give him a pat on the back and a handshake before nudging him again. "And who are you?" he asked Tuck accusingly. "Oh, never mind," he said before Tuck had the chance to answer. "These two need their privacy, camp is that way." And he gave Tuck the same nudge, herding them all in the direction of the camp.

Little John followed them, and waited a discreet distance before enveloping first Will in a firm embrace, and then Djaq, clearly unable to keep the grin off his face. "It hasn't been the same without the both of you," he told them earnestly, and held one of each of their hands in his for a long moment before Much appeared beside them.

"Alright, John," he said with exasperation. "Don't crush them." And he removed John's hands, and although he had been squeezing Will's fingers a bit tightly, Will didn't care in the slightest. Much gave Djaq a very long, fierce hug and whispered something to her in Arabic, to which she laughed softly. "Will," Much hugged him next, patting him heartily on the back, "so good to see you."

"Miss us, did you?" Djaq asked.

"You have no idea," Allan rejoined them, breaking away from his conversation with Carter and putting one arm around each of them. "The gang is back together, as it should be."

"With some new additions, I see," Much again looked at Tuck suspiciously and Tuck, true to his way, smiled cryptically and said nothing.

"It's a long story," Will told them. "We'll tell you back at camp."

"Yeah, let's go," Allan, still with his arms around them, urged them on. "I don't think we'll see Robin and Marian for a while." He chuckled to himself. "I guess we'll have to wait to say 'ello."

Will smiled and chanced a glance behind them. He could still see Robin and Marian in the distance between the trees, locked in the same tight embrace. He turned and left them to their privacy, allowing Allan to lead them back to camp, listening to his comforting chatter. A sense of peace and utter contentment filled him as everything seemed to be as it should.

They were home.


	13. Ch12:IThinkWe'reGoingtoNeedaBiggerCamp

**Chapter 12: I Think We're Going to Need a Bigger Camp.**

* * *

_Sherwood Forest_

Sherwood was different. The crisp air of late autumn had a bite to it; the few leaves which stubbornly clung to branches were brittle and shades of dull brown, and their numerous brothers carpeted the forest floor. It was not the same greenwood Marian had left, with birdsong in every tree and warm afternoon light filtering through the canopy tinting everything a rich, warm gold.

And of course, the man beside her, a year older – he was different, too.

And yet, it felt right to be with Robin again. Marian was relieved, for she'd been dreading the moment of their reunion ever since they had arrived back in England. If she was honest with herself, she was dreading the moment ever since leaving the Holy Land. So many things could have happened in her absence; Robin could have been captured, or killed, or even worse, moved on. Marian wouldn't begrudge him finding solace in another, thinking her dead – but she certainly did not want to be confronted by it, or be required to deal with it. Perhaps most of all, she worried that such time and distance would have changed things between them. Had his heart cooled in the year between marriage and reunion – had her own?

But then they had met in the forest, and she had felt her heart leap at the sound of his voice, at the sight of him; dishevelled, thinner, but unmistakeably Robin. He had stared at her for what had felt like a lifetime and she had wanted to run into his arms, tell him how much she had missed him, but had been stopped by his haunted expression. Marian had also been keenly aware of everyone else watching and she wasn't too pleased about their reunion having an audience. But then Robin had made the first move, crushing her into his embrace, tears wet on her shoulder as his hands clutched the fabric of her cloak and pressed into her back. She had held him in return, moved by such a show of emotion which was so rare for him, as the rest of the gang, thankfully, had moved away.

Eventually, Robin had raised his head, cupped her face in his hands, spoken her name as if it was a prayer, and kissed her soundly. It was not a soft, romantic kiss like they'd often shared in the past, but rather passionate, demanding – almost desperate - the kind of kiss he had only ever given her in the throes of his deepest embrace, when he'd let his desire overwhelm his carefully constructed control. She'd returned the kiss with fervour, feeling truly alive for the first time since she had first awoken in Acre.

He'd led her deeper into the woods, to one of the gang's back-up hideouts, where they kept supplies and funds in case their first camp was compromised. Marian had been there a few times before; it had been their rendezvous point when she'd been able to break away from the castle, to spend a few quiet hours in his arms, both of them desperately trying to forget the world that was conspiring to keep them apart.

As he had done on those occasions, Robin had concealed the entrance to the small hideaway and lain her cloak down over the dried leaves that covered the earthen floor. When he kissed her again, longing hit Marian deep in her gut, as she realised just how much she had missed him; his touch, his long, nimble fingers, the heat of his skin which almost burned when pressed against her own, the taste of him which was like earth and birch and glory – even the scratch of his beard against her neck. Marian had not allowed herself to feel any longing during their separation, but with his nearness and her lips still burning she suddenly realised how desperately she wanted to be with him.

So she'd drawn him closer and removed his shirt in between kisses, casting it forcefully aside. Usually she had let him take the lead as there was no question he was the more experienced, but she had no desire for romantic preliminaries, not this time, not after an entire year.

Marian pulled him down to the ground with her as she undid the laces on his trousers and he, sensing her intent, pushed up her skirts and ran his fingers over remembered pathways. When he touched her it felt like coming home; like all of her fears and anxieties melted away as he pressed his lips to her neck and she splayed her hands over the tensing muscles in his back as they joined together. Robin whispered love into her ear and Marian had simply held him tighter, allowing herself to be carried away by happiness, desire and above all relief.

Afterwards, Marian had allowed him to hold her, something she'd never before permitted, having always been conscious of time and the need to get back to the castle lest she be missed. She'd told him the story of her survival, Amineh nursing her back to health, finding Will, Djaq and Carter again and coming back to England. She'd left out the part about Richard, thinking it best to wait before burdening him with such news.

Robin lay on his side, head propped up with one arm as he listened to her story intently and, to his credit, did not interrupt. Marian lay on her back, and tilted her head towards him as she recounted her tale, his other hand clasped in hers as she absently played with his fingers.

"And your new friend, Tuck?" Robin queried, once she'd finished. "He's a Hospitaller." He did not sound pleased.

"He is a man of God, yes," she confirmed.

"I have known many who have claimed to be men of God," Robin told her, squeezing her fingers slightly. "Few truly were."

"Tuck is a little strange," she admitted. "But I do not doubt his piety, or conviction."

"If you're sure," he added, then chuckled to himself. "Perhaps some spiritual guidance is just what the lads need."

Marian did not tell him about Tuck's strange faith in her. She half believed that Robin would laugh off the idea and whilst she herself did not put any stock in Tuck's belief that she had some destiny to fulfil, she had no desire to see Robin dismiss it either, for despite herself she would be angry with him and she didn't want to argue so soon after their reunion.

"It is a miracle you are alive," Robin was suddenly very serious, and Marian wondered if he was half-reading her thoughts. He unclasped his hand from hers and then rested his palm on her stomach for a few moments, taking a few deep breaths as if trying to build up courage. Then he pushed up the fabric of her blouse to reveal the ugly scar which ran several inches across her belly. "Are you really alright?" he asked, his voice sounding very small as his fingers traced the puckered skin gently.

"Yes," she assured him. Robin pushed her blouse up further to reveal the other scar higher up on her torso, smaller, but still noticeable against her pale skin.

"Djaq says neither of them will ever heal completely," Marian told him softly, looking at him as his gaze was fixed on the visual sign of their separation. "But perhaps it's meant to be that way," she continued when he did not answer. "As a reminder."

She lifted her hand to his chest and ran her fingers over his own scar, stark against his side even after three years. It made her feel closer to him, their matching pair of wounds both received saving the life of the King, a visible sign of their sacrifice.

But Robin brushed her hand away and covered his scar with his palm. He had never liked her seeing it, and in fact had always tried to keep it covered when they'd been together. Marian knew that it was because he also saw his scars as a reminder, but one of failure. Robin had never been content with simply being the best at anything he did - he demanded perfection. Success over others was of little consequence to him; it was success over himself that he cared about. And so for an enemy to get close enough to wound him, penetrate his skin, was galling, with a scar being a permanent reminder of that perceived failure.

Marian, on the other hand, wore her scars proudly.

"Tell me what has been happening here," she changed the subject purposefully and smoothed her blouse back down.

This seemed to work, as Robin shook off his melancholy and proceeded to enthusiastically tell her about the changes the gang had implemented in her absence. She was surprised, but pleased, to learn of their new brand of collective leadership.

"Every man has his say," he explained with obvious pride, "and each voice is worth the same as another."

"I never thought I would see Robin Hood deferring authority," she teased him, her heart feeling light to do so again.

"I've changed, Marian," he told her earnestly. "You would be proud of me."

She smiled, touched that he would even admit such a thing. "I am glad that things are going well here."

They lay without speaking for a few minutes, Robin seemingly content as he gazed at her, softly stroking her hair that fell about her shoulders, every so often twining his fingers around the loose curls. Marian used to comfortable silence to build up the courage to say perhaps the one thing she knew would dampen his mood.

"Robin, I have to ask," she said eventually, took his hand and squeezed it gently. "You didn't….have you…." She cleared her throat. "Is Gisborne still alive?"

The effect was instant - Robin withdrew his hand and frowned down at her. "And if he wasn't?" he asked her shortly. "Would you care?"

Marian felt uneasy; Guy had always been a sore spot with Robin, and he had never really understood that she had seen something good in him. Robin saw only a murderer when he looked at Guy – Marian saw a tormented soul that had desperately reached out to hers. And she had lied to him, deceived him and used him for her own ends. There was a certain amount of guilt she felt about Guy, and she could never absolve herself of it knowing that Robin had killed him in her name.

She shifted onto her side so that she could face him better, and reached up to tenderly brush the hair back from his eyes. "You do not kill, Robin," he told him softly. "So yes, I would care."

Robin looked at her for a few long moments, as if searching for something in her eyes. He had given her the same look before, whenever he had been particularly jealous, or anxious about her feelings. Almost as if he expected her to announce a sudden passionate love for Guy at any moment and abandon him. Perhaps before, she had understood such uneasiness, but now felt as if they had moved beyond that. Hadn't she married him, twice, in the Holy Land? But she didn't voice those thoughts and instead held his gaze, trying to convey the security of the love she felt for him.

"He's alive," Robin said eventually, breaking eye contact and casting his gaze downward. Marian breathed a sigh of relief, something which clearly did not escape Robin's notice. "But it's not just _my_ soul you're concerned about," he questioned, searching her face again. "Is it?" he queried.

She gave no answer, which he took as confirmation, and gave a short, disbelieving laugh. "The man ran you through with a sword, Marian," he reminded her bitterly. "You were between him and the King, and so he disposed of you."

"That's not what happened," she insisted. "I taunted him," she tried to explain, wanting him to understand. "I knew I couldn't challenge him physically, and I had no weapon - so I had to improvise."

Robin furrowed his brow, looking perturbed. "What did you say?"

"I…" she paused, but decided that the truth was the only option. "I told him…that I would rather die than be with him. That I was going to marry you." She took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. "That I loved you."

Robin seemed somewhat mollified, and visibly clamped down on a smile. "Why in the King's name did you tell him that?" he asked, but his tone was lighter.

Marian shrugged, although she had replayed the events in her mind many times and had no doubt about her motivations.

"Because I knew that's what would hurt him the most," she explained. That had been her main goal, to disarm him with painful words if she could not disarm him physically. And yet she also remembered the exhilaration of speaking them and knowing, for the first time and without doubts, her own mind. "But also because it is the truth," Marian continued and took his face in both of her hands. "I do love you, Robin."

Robin smiled with visible joy and perhaps a bit of relief. "I love you, too," he told her, then leaned forward and kissed her gently.

He pulled her closer and her arms went around his neck, allowing herself to be drawn into his embrace. It was just like she remembered; warmth blossoming in her heart like the first day of spring after a cold and bitter winter. She had been so aware of herself on the journey back to England, feeling the scrutiny of the others keenly. It was such a relief to simply let go of any pretence, to lose herself in Robin's arms.

He began to kiss her neck, and she arched into him, wanting to be as close to him as possible. His grip on her was so tight it was as if he felt she would slip away, but she didn't protest.

"I love you so much," he murmured, breath hot against her skin.

She lifted his head again, not willing to settle for just his embrace. "Show me," she demanded, and pressed her lips to his.

Later, she lay with her head resting on his chest, listening to his even breathing and the rhythmic beating of his heart. Sooner or later they would have to return to the gang, but for one brief moment she could pretend that she was simply a woman in the arms of her lover, without the worry of feeding the poor and fighting the Sheriff. One moment, she would allow herself, and no more.

"It was a stupid thing to tell him," Robin's voice broke through her reverie.

"What?" Marian asked. She was slightly drowsy and had in fact thought Robin was asleep himself. But it appeared he had been running their earlier conversation over in his mind.

"Gisborne," he clarified. "Telling him what you did."

She shifted slightly in his arms, turning over and resting one arm across his chest and then perching her chin atop her wrist. "Why?"

"Why?" he mimicked her. "Because he stabbed you, that's why!"

"It worked though, didn't it," she shrugged. "He didn't kill Richard."

"He killed you!"

She sighed and sat up, irritated, tossing her hair over her shoulder and regarding him for several moments. "I had to do something. How many times have you put yourself in danger, thrown yourself into almost certain death to save another's life?"

"That's different." He sat up, scowling.

"I see," she replied with sarcasm. "Because you're Robin Hood."

"Because I didn't die," he insisted.

Suddenly she found the situation rather amusing. "Neither did I," she reminded him, almost laughing. "And you've just been lucky that there's always someone there to save you with a distraction." She poked him playfully in the ribs, hoping that he would see how ridiculous he was being and laugh about it with her.

But he remained stony-faced. "No you didn't die," he agreed. "But you certainly gave a very good impression of it this past year."

Marian was somewhat taken aback. "You're…_angry_ at me for not returning sooner?" she asked him incredulously.

He lowered his gaze, and his hair fell into his eyes. "No, of course not." But his tone was not convincing.

She retreated from him slightly, rearranging her skirts under her legs in irritation. "It is not as if I just picked myself up, dusted myself off and carried on, Robin," she told him sharply. "It was weeks before I'd even regained consciousness. And after that my recovery was very slow. I was not fit to travel."

He nodded but did not reply and did not again raise his eyes to meet hers.

"And I was trying to further the cause for peace," she continued, somewhat peeved at him for making her explain, and at herself for feeling as if she needed to. "You of all people should understand that."

"I do," he said very quietly. She almost informed him that she had, in fact, been able to persuade the King to return when he had not, but stopped herself when he finally looked up at her. His eyes were shadowed, and for the first time she noticed the dark rims under them, the lines of worry and stress that had not been present a year earlier. Clearly her absence had had a profound effect on him, far more than she had realised or wanted to think about.

Robin shifted closer to her and cupped her face with one hand, his thumb stroking her cheek tenderly. "I have just missed you," he told her, his voice pained. "I haven't felt like myself without you."

She was touched by his honesty and his plain, open emotion. Very rarely had he been so with her, his true feelings always hidden in jest or painful, clumsy metaphors. He had always known how to charm women, and in her youth she had been no exception, but it had mostly been bravado. Fine, passionate words came easily to him when it was all for show; his true thoughts he had always kept to himself.

And even after they'd found a way back to each other, declarations of love had always been forced out of him in an emotionally fuelled moment; her asking him to spare Allan's life, his apprehensive proposal over a freshly-dug grave, those harrowing moments in the tree with Sheriff's men below them.

But the raw pain she saw plainly etched across his face was new to her; like a glimpse into his soul that he had never been truly willing to show her before. She had known that he would grieve for her, miss her, but she hadn't realised to what extent. His anguished words in the sands of the Holy Land came back to her – _I can't fight without you_. Marian had never considered them to be anything more than an exaggeration in a moment of distress, but it seemed clear there was at least some truth in them.

"I'm here now," Marian told him, and took his hand from her check, holding it in both of hers. "I'm here." She knew that she could not put off her bad news any longer. "And I need to tell you something – about the King."

Marian proceeded to fill him in on all the details, the peace accord, the King's capture and their visit to Bavaria, her suspicions that it was all the Sheriff's doing. He listened intently, but without reaction. When she finally finished she waited with trepidation for him to become impassioned, begin making plans to travel to Austria and rescue the King at any cost. Now that she was back in England she had no desire to leave again, but knew how dearly Robin loved Richard and how seriously he took his role as his protector.

Instead Robin was silent for a long time, his brow furrowed in concentration as he considered the information.

"This is troubling news," he said finally. "No doubt the Sheriff plans to announce it with the next tax increase – we must be ready to increase our deliveries."

It was certainly not the reaction she had been expecting. "You…you don't want to mount a rescue attempt?" she queried after a few stunned moments.

Robin was silent for a few more moments, clearly having trouble with his decision, but eventually sighed in resignation. "Richard must look to God for protection, now," he replied, albeit with obvious discomfort. "We need to focus on the people we can help here."

She apprised him thoughtfully. "You have changed."

"He strung us up in the desert, Marian," his voice was pained. "After all of my love and service, he just…left us to die." He shook his head slightly, as if he still could not believe it. "He is my King and I have sworn to serve him unto death" he added. "If he asked it of me, of course I would go." Robin paused and took her hand again, pressing a soft kiss to her knuckles. "But he sent you back to me. Our place is here – together."

* * *

_Outlaw's Camp_

"I think we're going to need a bigger camp."

Much looked around their small abode and counted the bunks. Six, although two were currently unoccupied. He counted the people around the camp; himself sitting on his own bunk, Will and Djaq settling their belongings back in their old places while Allan hovered around them excitedly, Little John and Carter warming themselves by the fire and Tuck examining the hidden lever in the rockface with interest. Plus Robin and Marian, wherever they were enjoying their reunion.

Nine.

They'd lived in close enough quarters with six people, and Much remembered how crowded it had seemed those few weeks Marian had lived with them the last time. Although, most of the discomfort was due to Robin and Marian's constant bickering, which had made all of them uneasy and looking to escape the confines of camp. Still, three extra people on top of that was going to be a challenge. Robin and Marian could share a bunk, he decided, as they had done before, and probably Will and Djaq, but in any event they would need more room.

"I've been thinking about that," Will spoke up and looked around the camp himself. Much could almost see the cogs turning in his mind, examining the space and dimensions with his carpenter's mind. "I have a few ideas."

"Until then, as they newest member of your band I am happy to sleep on the floor," Tuck spoke up in dulcet tones. Other than his initial thanks when Much had greeted him, they were the first words he had spoken.

"Steady on, mate," Allan said with a chuckle. "Who exactly are you again? I don't remember anyone inviting you into the gang."

Much noticed Djaq purse her lips ever so slightly, and took note of the fact that she did not particularly care for this Tuck person. As for Tuck himself, he seemed unperturbed. "The Lady Marian has invited me," he replied simply.

"Did she now?" Allan asked sceptically. "Well, Marian's not exactly part of the gang either, is she?"

"Shut up, Allan," Much told him crossly. "Of course Marian's part of the gang!" A year earlier, Much had barely been able to admit that Marian was "sort of" a member of the gang. But her return changed everything and Much would not allow a word against her.

"Blimey, and so it starts," Allan rolled his eyes dramatically. "She gets to invite whoever she wants, now? Don't I get a veto power or somethin'?"

"Do you object to my being here?" Tuck queried.

"No offence, mate," Allan shrugged. "But we all know each other. Who are you? No idea."

"I can vouch for Tuck," Carter spoke up calmly. "He can be trusted."

"Says the man who once tried to kill Robin," Allan pointed out. "And you're not part of the gang, either, you don't get a say."

"Robin asked me to join the last time I was here," Carter responded. "You would perhaps know that had you been there at the time, instead of in the employ of the Sheriff," he added with a smirk.

Allan's expression turned sour, and he did not respond. Will gave him a reassuring pat on the shoulder.

"There is no need to argue," Little John spoke up from his place by the fire. "We do not deny anyone offering help."

"Couldn't have said it better myself," Robin's voice cut through the air, and Much turned to see that he and Marian had appeared, holding hands, by the treeline. "We could use all the help we can get."

Much noted that the pair seemed calm and content, that Robin was smiling in a way he had not seen for a long time. Marian was smiling also, but seemed somewhat apprehensive; as if she was unsure of what their reaction to her reappearance would be, although Will and Djaq had explained the circumstances of her survival. Or perhaps, depending on how much they had heard of the recent conversation, she was concerned that she was creating discord between the gang – he was never quite sure what Marian was thinking.

But if that was the reason she needn't have worried, for as soon as she was close enough Little John drew her into a fatherly hug, patting her on the back affectionately. Robin moved towards Will and Djaq, embracing them both and exchanging warm words with each of them.

"So, you're alive then," Allan said to Marian, once she'd freed herself from Little John.

She took a step towards him and smiled. "That's right," she replied simply.

"Hmph." Allan looked her up and down and then poked her in the shoulder. Much rolled his eyes, but Marian laughed, kissed Allan's cheek and gave him a hug.

"Satisfied I'm real?"

Allan shrugged, although he seemed genuinely relieved. "Suppose."

Much climbed down the ladder of his bunk and shifted from one foot to the other anxiously as Marian, finally, approached him. He looked over her shoulder and saw that Robin was engrossed in conversation with Carter and wasn't paying attention to them.

"Welcome back, Marian," he told her, unsure of what else he could say – all he could think of was the image of her falling backwards into the sands of Acre, Gisborne's sword lodged in her belly; of Robin holding her lifeless form in his arms as he wept. It was hard to reconcile that with the woman before him, obviously alive and with no apparent ill-effects from the ordeal.

Much gave her a very brief, awkward hug and then stepped away just as quickly. She gave him a quizzical smile, but then turned around to face the rest of the gang.

"It is good to see you all," she told them with genuine warmth. "I gather you have met Brother Tuck," she continued, and the man in question gave a nod of his blonde head.

"Marian has told me all about you," Robin said, stepping forward and shaking Tuck's hand enthusiastically. "You are most welcome, Tuck." He turned around to face the rest of them. "Although of course," he made a sweeping gesture in their direction. "It is up to the whole gang."

Allan, for all of his earlier blustering, simply shrugged his shoulders and said nothing. Djaq visibly forced a smile and no one else made any protest.

"Excellent." Robin gave Tuck a friendly pat on the shoulder. "Our ranks have more than doubled," he added, clearly pleased and Much could see he had that look in his eye which meant he was working on a plan. "That means we can double our efforts against the Sheriff." Robin rubbed his hands together in obvious glee. "We have a raid planned for a few day's time," he continued, "we planned it with just the four of us in mind, small scale really, but maybe now we can plan something better. Something bigger."

Much had already heard enough. "Robin, they've only just arrived," he reminded him, "and they've probably been travelling for weeks. Shouldn't we at least eat first before we go planning anything?"

The glint in Robin's eye disappeared and he looked suitably cowed, although his grin did not fade. "Of course you are right, Much." He went to Marian's side and took her hand again. "We should celebrate." He raised it, placing a kiss to her knuckles and Marian, rather uncharacteristically, blushed.

"That's more like it," Allan chimed in, clapping his hands and visibly cheering up. "I'll make a run to the 'Trip, get us some supplies." He turned to Will and winked. "Suzie owes me a favour." Will laughed quietly, and Djaq rolled her eyes but was smiling.

"I can check the stores," Much spoke up, not about to be shown up by Allan. "And the villages - we'll have a right feast!"

He wasted no time in gathering his pack and setting off – Robin offered to accompany him, but Much could see the way he tightly clasped Marian's hand and wouldn't be the one to separate them so soon. Allan set off in the other direction towards Nottingham town with Will, and Much made his way towards their eastern store where he knew he'd stashed some cured pork.

But at the treeline, Much paused and allowed himself a glance back at the camp where the gang and their new members sat around the fire. The sight made him smile, and Much decided he could live with crowded – it was preferable to the emptiness and silence of their camp the past year.

Much felt a surge of hope, as if with her return Marian had brought the promise of justice again, and he made his way through Sherwood happily, singing softly to himself.


	14. Chapter 13: Tuck In

**Chapter 13: Tuck In**

_Sherwood Forest_

Night had fallen, and Marian had excused herself from the outlaw's camp and taken a short walk, anxious for some solitude. Whilst she had been immensely pleased to be with her friends again, she was also grateful to escape for a few moments; to breathe in the cool night air and be alone with her thoughts. A few minutes was all she needed, and she relished the silence of the forest, save for the rustling of leaves and the occasional hoot of owls roused to begin the night's hunting.

It wasn't long before she heard the crunch of boots against the leaves of the forest floor, and opened her eyes to see Much approaching, laden down with several bulging sacks.

"Marian," he greeted her as he approached, and, with a small grunt, put down the sacks on the ground beside him. "What are you doing out here alone?"

"Alone?" she repeated and laughed. "Much, I am not a hundred yards from the Camp. No tragedy is going to befall me here."

Much looked down, and kicked at the ground with his boot sheepishly. "You are right, of course," he conceded. After several long moments, he looked up at her with a solemn expression on his face. "Marian," he continued seriously, "I didn't say before, but I…I am so glad that you've returned.

She thought back to the awkward hug they'd shared a few hours before and gave him an indulgent smile. Even though they'd grown up together, they'd always had the comfort of Robin as the common element of friendship between them, and had never really had to relate to one another outside of that. And yet, when they'd been children, it had been Much who had tended to her the time she'd fallen badly from a tree, that had often brought her and her father fresh fish caught from the streams in Sherwood, that had (albeit begrudgingly) acted as chaperone once she and Robin were of age so they could still spend time together. And of course, it had been Much who had stopped her wedding to Guy, who had inspired her with his faith and devotion to see what had been truly important.

Marian had never really noticed or appreciated the impact he'd had on her life before, but looking back she realised he had always been there, on the periphery, looking out for her as he had looked out for Robin. He was her superior in age, in goodness, in humility – in perhaps everything except birth and yet he felt bound to her. In a way, Marian realised, she was as much his charge as Robin was, except perhaps she seemed like more of a burden to him.

Much visibly hesitated for a few more moments, then took a step towards her. "I am going to hug you now," he announced.

She looked at him quizzically. "Alright."

"I'm just warning you," he told her. "I don't want to get stabbed in the eye by some concealed dagger or something. And I know, you and I…" he trailed off, clearly unable to articulate his point properly, but she ignored that. "So," he added, "prepare yourself."

"Alright," she repeated, amused.

He stepped forward and put his arms around her. She was expecting a very brief hug as he had given her back at camp, but he held her tightly for several moments. Marian smiled and accepted it; she couldn't remember the last time Much had embraced her at all, let alone with so much affection. At least, not since she had been a child, before (at least in his mind) they became rivals for Robin's attention. She returned his brotherly embrace with an unexpected relief.

"I have to tell you something," he said, still holding onto her tightly. "Ask you for something."

"What's that?" she asked.

"Your forgiveness."

Marian pulled back to arm's length. "Whatever for, Much?" she asked, confused.

Much took a deep breath and then proceeded to tell her about Robin's surprise birthday party the year before in Nettlestone, that he'd concealing the plans from her even when she'd asked. She waited, puzzled, while he recounted the story with visible shame, eyes downcast.

"I don't know why you're telling me this," she said once he'd finished. "I don't see why it matters."

"I needed you to know," Much told her, and then looked up, resolute. "I promise, I will never lie to you again, Marian. Never," he added emphatically. "Robin has forgiven me, but I can't ever forgive myself – I've stolen a year from you both."

She found his sincerity touching, but his guilt unnecessary and slightly ridiculous. But obviously it was weighing on his conscience and she wished only to alleviate that, rather than offend it.

"Think of it this way," she told him, thinking quickly. "If you hadn't lied to me, then I would have been there in Nettlestone. I never would have tried to kill the Sheriff, he wouldn't have felt to need to gloat to me about Robin's imminent death and therefore Allan would never have found out about it and come back and rescue you all. We probably would have all died in that barn." She smiled at Much's befuddled expression as he was working what she had said over in his mind. "So you see, your lie perhaps saved us all."

"Well, yes, perhaps," Much furrowed his brow, clearly unconvinced. "But still, my promise stands, I will not lie to you. Lying is bad."

Sometimes, Marian envied the simplicity of his convictions. For Much, there was good and evil, right actions and wrong ones, and he did not understand people like herself who knew from experience that sometimes, one needed to commit small sins in order to achieve a greater good.

"Let's go back to camp," she suggested, and Much thankfully did not press the subject. They walked the short distance together in companionable silence. As they entered the camp, she could see that Allan and Will had already returned from their foraging mission at the Trip to Jerusalem Inn. Allan, lounging his bunk noticed them first.

"Here comes the party," he called out to them.

Much retrieved several wineskins from his sacks and held them up. "I liberated these from Locksley," he announced, clearly pleased with himself.

"Well done, Much," Robin said, breaking from his quiet discussion with Carter. "Just what we need for a celebration."

"Oh, do me a favour," Allan spoke up. "Gisborne's still in London, so by 'liberated' you mean you walked up to the kitchens and asked for them, right?"

Marian smiled, but Much scowled in obvious displeasure. "Isn't that just what you did at the 'Trip?" he questioned.

But Allan laughed and indicated the bread, pies and cheeses which lay beside him in a heap, and the barrel in the centre of the camp, which she assumed contained ale, that he and Will had somehow managed to procure.

"This? Took all of me charm to convince Suzie to part with."

"So not very much charm, then?" Djaq added with a smile.

Allan only laughed again. "I think the spoils speak for themselves," he continued. "That takes skill, mate."

He and Much continued to bicker over who had acquired the better quality produce, whilst Robin located some silver goblets from their stash, filled them with wine and passed them around, except to Djaq, for whom he filled a goblet with water. He moved to Marian's side, passing the last goblet to her and rested his other hand on her shoulder.

"To my dear friends," Robin said, raising his goblet as the rest of them followed suit. Marian waited for him to continue with a speech, but he took only took a drink, squeezing her shoulder gently as he did so. The rest of them solemnly drank from their own goblets, and Marian noticed that the only Allan, John and Much did not seem surprised by Robin's brevity. Marian looked up at him curiously, but after a few moments she gave her a wide grin and laughed as she remembered. "Come on then," he addressed everyone jovially. "Let's celebrate!"

* * *

Allan helped himself to his umpteenth goblet of ale (having always been more partial to it than wine), and leant against the barrel to drink it. It had been a feat for him and Will to get the thing to the camp from Nottingham, but when Suzie had offered it to them as a joke if they could carry it, he couldn't let the challenge pass. Will had of course come up with a pulling mechanism using some rope and a wheelbarrow borrowed from a neighbouring stable – he was clever like that. Allan had used his charm to talk Suzie into letting them take it, promising he'd make it up to her. She'd also returned his lute, which he'd left there after Lardner had shown up. It was currently resting on his bunk, but Allan hadn't quite felt up to playing it yet.

Instead, he enjoyed watching the camp – Robin and Marian tucked away in a corner, sharing a wineskin between them, for once being opening affectionate with one another; Much and Carter loudly talking over one another and from the looks of their ridiculous pantomime, discussing old war stories; Will and Djaq chatting and laughing with Little John. And Tuck – Tuck was talking to no one, but appearing to be listening and watching everyone. Allan filled up his goblet again, grabbed some food and crossed the camp to take a seat beside him.

"Allan A-Dale," Tuck greeted him.

"Tuck," Allan replied. "Is that a first name or a last name?" he chuckled to himself.

Tuck smiled enigmatically. "It is my name before God," he said simply.

Allan tried to stop a laugh, and it came out as a snort. "Alright, Brother," he told Tuck, shaking his head. "Whatever you say." Then Allan regarded him for a few moments. "Is that your game then?" he asked. "Here to save our souls?"

"To say that a soul needs saving implies that it has been lost," Tuck said, holding Allan's gaze. "And if that happens, I believe that a man is responsible for saving his own soul. Although this does not mean he cannot seek help and guidance from others" he added with a smile.

It was not in Allan's nature to think on such matters – he lived in the real world where there was not the time or the place for them. But he just couldn't help himself from responding. "So what are you 'ere for?" he questioned. "To provide guidance… or to save your own soul?"

Tuck looked away, and gazed into the fire. "Perhaps both," he answered thoughtfully.

"Cheer up, mate," Allan told him, "we 'ave food and wine – this is no night for navel-gazing!" He picked up the pie he'd brought over and divided it into two, offering Tuck a half. The older man nodded in thanks, took the portion and bit into it.

"That's it," Allan roughly patted him on the back as he stood. "Tuck in!" he added, then laughed heartily at his own joke, took a bite of his own half and then moved to take a seat in his empty bunk.

He sat there for several moments, enjoying his food and drink, until Will appeared at his side and took a seat on the bunk next to him.

"Good night, eh?" Allan greeted him. "Good food, good ale, good friends."

"Yes," Will agreed. "It's good to be back. I wasn't sure I would ever see England again. Not that I didn't like it in Acre," he added quickly. "I was with Djaq."

Allan nodded but did not reply. He had wanted Will and Djaq to be happy, and so had never questioned their decision to stay in the Holy Land, but if he was honest with himself it had felt almost like a betrayal – like they had abandoned him. And as much as he cared about Robin, John and Much, it hadn't been the same – they were his friends, but they'd never understood him quite like Will and Djaq both had.

"I need to ask you, Allan," Will said solemnly after a few moments. "And I'd like you to be honest. Are you really alright with me and Djaq?"

Allan shrugged. "Course I am, why wouldn't I be?"

"Well, I know that you liked her…" Will seemed uneasy.

Allan shrugged again and took a gulp of ale before answering. "Yeah," he began. "I do like her, 'course I do. But you love her, don't ya?"

Will smiled and nodded. "Yes."

"Then that's all there is to it," Allan said, smiling as Djaq appeared at Will's shoulder and took a seat next to him. "Me two best mates," he continued, raising his goblet to them. "What could be more perfect than that?"

"We've missed you, Allan," Djaq said earnestly. "More than you probably know."

Allan chuckled. "Everyone wants to be serious tonight," he observed, "where's the fun in that?" He picked up his lute from beside him on the bunk. "We need some music."

* * *

"I didn't know Allan was musical."

"Hmmm?" Robin's actions until that point had been directed towards nuzzling Marian's neck, and he looked up to see her attention elsewhere.

"Allan is playing the lute," she said, nodding her head towards the other side of the camp where Allan was indeed strumming a tune, and singing. "Didn't you hear the music?"

Robin grinned at her, fortified by the wine and Marian's presence. "I thought that was just my heart singing."

Marian burst out laughing, which soon dissolved into amused sniggers. "Of all of the ridiculous things you've ever said to me…"

"What, it wasn't that bad!" he argued. "Alright, it was pretty bad," he agreed at her exaggerated expression. She giggled and did not seem to be able to stop herself – Robin could tell was not used to drinking so much wine and it had gone to her head slightly. In fact, he had more often than not abstained in the past year, unwilling to be drawn into revelry, and found that he was feeling somewhat lightheaded. And bold.

He rose to his feet and held out his hands to her, but she looked at him quizzically and took another sip from her goblet. "There is music and wine," he explained. "There should be dancing."

"You can't dance," Marian teased him. "You never wanted to learn."

Robin shrugged in return. "But tonight is a night for miracles."

She took his hands and he pulled her up and into his embrace. She laughed again, and wrapped her arms around his neck. Robin spun her around a little clumsily, knocking several pans off of the larder in the process. But he didn't care, because his friends were back together, there was music in his ears and Marian was in his arms. All was right with the world.

* * *

The sound of Marian's laugh and the clang of pots tumbling to the floor cut through the camp. John looked up from his conversation with Carter and Much, and the sight of Marian laughing brought a smile to his face. Much rose from his seat by the fire next to John and he expected an indignant comment regarding the state of the larder, but instead crossed the camp and offered a hand to Djaq. She smiled and took it, allowing Much to lead her in a friendly dance. Allan started playing a livelier tune on his lute, and Will began to clap in time with the music.

Carter grinned as he watched the dancing couples navigating the small space around the camp. "This is certainly an improvement over the Crusader camp," he told John. "There was plenty of wine there also, but I don't mind telling you that it did not always keep the men in the best of spirits."

John nodded. He couldn't speak to that – he only knew that he had never seen so much joy in the camp. "It is good to see Robin and Marian so happy," he said simply, looking in the couple fondly. He didn't think he'd ever seen Marian smile so much – she had always seemed a lonely creature to John, a woman raised by and around men but never fully able to enter their realm. John knew that kind of loneliness, the feeling that you inhabited a world which existed alongside the worlds of others, but never truly intersected with them. It was heartening to see Marian seem so easy and free, and not withdraw as she had been prone to do the last time she lived in the camp. "And Will and Djaq," John added, seeing that Will had taken over Much's position as Djaq's dance partner. He noticed she wore that small secretive smile which was only present when Will was, and John was glad to see that their affection for one another had not diminished.

He was so happy for the two young couples, and yet the sight of them opened up the old, barely healed wounds in his heart. John wished, not for the first time, that he'd had the courage of any of his young friends, to fight to stay together with the person you loved despite all obstacles. With Alice, he had run, had chosen the easy way out by convincing himself she was better off without him.

"Everyone seemed happy," Carter's voice cut through his reverie. "It makes a nice change," he added.

John again looked across the camp at Robin, Marian, Much, Will and Djaq, who had now formed a circle around Allan, still strumming on his lute as he appeared to be performing a jig of some kind. Laughter mixed with the sound of clapping hands, words of encouragement and appreciation, singing and a beat kept by Much banging a wooden spoon against the cooking pot.

"Yes," John agreed with a smile. "Yes it does."

* * *

Djaq woke up early, as was her habit. Everyone else was still asleep, even Will, based on his even breathing and the slack arm that rested across their shared bunk. She rose, careful not to wake anyone, although she realised that many of them were not so much asleep as passed out. Allan still had a goblet gripped in his hand. Although Djaq herself did not consume alcohol, she did not begrudge it of her friends, and was in fact rather amused by their drunken behaviour. At least, in the past, she had often enjoyed informing them of the things they had said and done under the influence which they had blocked from their memories.

She carefully picked up her pack from her designated cubbyhole and quietly left the camp, walking a few hundred metres into the forest until she came across a small clearing. This was her part of Sherwood; her small glade where she had always gone for a bit of privacy, which was much needed when sharing an outlaw's camp with half a dozen dirty, shameless men.

With practiced ease, Djaq removed a mat from her pack, laid it down on the soft grass and knelt to begin her morning prayers. She took the small compass from the pack which had been a gift from Bassam. Djaq had always been able to judge the direction from the sun and stars, however Bassam had pressed it into her hand, telling her it was to always help her find the way home.

It comforted her to use it - some small keepsake of Palestine that she hadn't had the last time, when she'd been brought to the country in chains. But now she had returned of her own free will, and had been able to bring some small items with her to ease the loss of her homeland. The compass rested on true north, and she judged the approximate direction of Mecca, and began her morning prayers.

When finished, she became acutely aware of a figure by the treeline. She rose and saw that it was Tuck, causing anger to bristle inside her.

"My apologies for intruding," Tuck began in that disconcertingly mild tone of his.

"There would be no need to apologise had you simply not intruded in the first place," Djaq told him.

Tuck gave her a strange sort of bow by ducking his head, and she had come to believe that it was his way of conceding the point, or at least choosing not to challenge it further.

"I confess that whilst I have fought against your people and religion for many years, I do esteem the frequency of your prayers," Tuck told her. "It is a devotion many in our faith are lacking."

Djaq sighed. She supposed it was only a matter of time before Tuck started preaching to her – to be honest she was surprised he had waited so long. Perhaps it was because he had been officially accepted into their band of outlaws.

"It is not my concern what Christians may be lacking in their devotions," she said. "Or what your opinions are about my religion."

"My observation was favourable to your religion, and kindly meant," Tuck responded in that same even tone. He paused for a few moments, regarding her. "I think we have more in common than you realise, Mistress Djaq," he added finally.

She bristled at the title. Tuck never seemed to allow himself the familiarity of addressing someone only by their name. It was always _Mistress Djaq_ and _Master Will_ and _Captain Carter_. Even with Marian, with whom he seemed to have formed the closest bond, he never deigned to address her informally, and more often than not simply called her _My Lady_.

"How much in common can a warrior priest have with a Turk?" she questioned, using the name his kind used to refer to her people.

"I believe it was your Prophet who wrote that we have a great deal in common," he told her. "Would it surprise you to learn that I have read your Holy Book?" Tuck asked when she did not reply.

"Yes," she replied curtly. "It would."

"_Say, People of the Book," _he recited,_ "let us arrive at a statement that is common to us all: we worship God alone._"

"Reading is one thing," she said shortly. "Understanding is another."

"This is true," he agreed. "Yet surely we can agree that if there is one thing our people both share, is our devotion to our God."

"Robin has also read the Qu'ran" Djaq told him. "He interprets such passages as proof that your God and mine are one in the same."

Tuck tilted his head, openly studying her. "And you do not agree."

"Robin is idealistic," she told him. "He believes that we can all live together in harmony. That we are all…_children of Abraham_, regardless of denomination or race."

"And so we are," Tuck agreed. "But as Cain and Abel have taught us, children do not always get along." He paused and studied her openly. "I sense you do not share Robin Hood's view."

"I am a realist," she said shortly. "I have seen the hatred your people have for mine – I have seen the anger my people have for yours. If they were the same God, I cannot see how He could allow us to fight each other in His name. How He could allow us to remain on different sides, allow so much death." Djaq's mind went back, as it often did, to those days on the battlefield after she had assumed her brother's identity. To the death and suffering she had seen there which time and distance could not erase. "At least if Allah and your God are different – if they are warring Gods as we are warring races… then at least it does not seem so futile."

"And yet you align yourself with Englishmen and their cause," Tuck pointed out. "With young Master Will."

"I think you'll find we are the exception rather than the rule," she noted. "I hope for peace of course," she added quickly. "But peace is most easily achieved by an invading army returning home."

"And yet this work is done," he reminded her. "The Third Crusade is all but over, and yet here you are in an English forest."

Briefly, she recalled the Queen of Aquitaine making the same point and although time had passed, the answer had not changed. If anything, it was more true now than it had been then, for she had chosen to return. "In an English forest," she agreed, "but doing good work, and alongside those I trust."

"I hope one day, Mistress Djaq, that you will trust me." With that Tuck gave another one of his small courteous bows and left the clearing without waiting for a response.

But Djaq knew that courtesy did not equal trustworthiness – only actions could prove that, and she had seen nothing from Tuck which had indicated he was worth her confidence. Robin and the rest of his men had earned such respect in less than a day – Marian over a few hours when she had tended to her first stabbing wound – Carter in his resolve to atone for the anger in his heart.

Djaq decided she would reserve judgement on Tuck until he had proved himself the equal to them.


	15. Chapter 14: Boys in the Hood

**Chapter 14: Boys in the Hood**

* * *

_Outlaw's Camp_

Marian groaned as she rolled over in her bunk, roused unwillingly from sleep by a great pounding in her head. She opened her eyes tentatively, but even the weak sunlight filtering through the forest canopy and into the camp was blinding and she quickly closed them again. Her mouth was dry, and she desperately needed some water, but did not feel as if she had the strength to rise.

She thought back to the previous night and found that her memories were muddled – she remembered their celebratory feast, but struggled to remember exactly how many goblets of wine she had consumed. Marian had never been drunk before, always afraid that she would say or do something she would regret, or which would reveal her true allegiances. Even with the outlaws, she had always been careful. She disliked the lightheaded feeling alcohol could induce, as if she was divorced from her mind and body in a way which made her uncomfortable. The previous night had been the exception, and if this was the aftermath, Marian thought to herself, she had been right to steer clear from it in the past and intended to do so in the future.

She lay in the bunk for several minutes, trying to find the will to get up. Robin was not there beside her, and she heard voices from the other side of the camp – the others were already awake, and she cringed inwardly about sleeping late.

"I think what Robin's saying is that we need to send the Sheriff a message," he heard someone – perhaps Will – say.

"We could send something with Larder," a voice she identified as Much's suggested, to indications of amusement or frustration from the others.

"Not a literal message, Much," a female voice which could only be Djaq spoke up. "Something symbolic."

"I know that," Much spluttered. "I know – I just thought that Vaisey thinks he killed Lardner, right? So sending him a message with him has to make him concerned."

She heard Allan's distinctive laugh. "Right, and what's the message; '_ello Sheriff, I'm back from the dead and gonna peck your eyes out_?' Come on."

"I do not think the Sheriff would recognise him in any case," Djaq pointed out. "A bird is just another bird to him."

"Well I don't hear you coming up with any ideas," Much replied, voice raising in volume.

"Keep it down, will you," she heard Robin say softly. "Marian is still asleep."

Marian sighed and willed herself to open her eyes. She slowly pulled herself up and out of the bunk and made her way over to where the outlaws were seated around the fire. All except for Tuck, who was set back from the group and leaning against a tree, and Allan, who was half-lying on the ground, propped up by his elbows and looking tired and a bit sickly. Marian imagined she looked much the same and smoothed her hair down self-consciously.

Their attention turned her way and a few of them exchanged sheepish expressions. Robin smiled and held out his hand and she approached, and she allowed him to guide her to take a place by his side around the fire.

"Sorry, Marian," Much spoke up from Robin's other side. "We didn't mean to wake you."

"You looked like you needed the rest," Robin said to her quietly, squeezing her hand gently. "You should rest."

In truth Marian felt a little embarrassed that she had slept through their discussion up until that point. "I have rested enough," she told him quietly, thinking about her convalescence in Acre. "I want to know what we're planning."

Robin smiled and nodded. "We had a raid on Nottingham Castle planned for tomorrow," he began. "Standard, really – sneak in, steal some money and make a quick escape. But," he added, "now we have more men I was suggesting something on a bigger scale to _really_ make trouble for the Sherriff."

"We were just trying to think of what," Much added a little unhappily.

"And yours was a good idea, Much," Robin told him. "It was – but we don't only need to send a message to the Sheriff," he continued, "but to the people as well. The Sheriff is going to make the announcement about the King's capture any day now, and when that happens the people need to have faith that we're going to be there to help them, because their lives are going to get a lot worse before they get better."

Marian nodded. "Alright, so we need something showy – something obvious….that's really your area of expertise, Robin," she teased him lightly.

He laughed. "I suppose I should be offended, but I'm not," he said with good humour and a grin on his face. "And as a matter of fact, an idea has come to me…"

He proceeded to outline his idea, and in fact the thoughts seemed so well reasoned and considered that Marian surmised they had been formulated prior to the discussion, and that needing assistance to come up with a plan had been a mere pretence to allow his gang to come up with their own, and only supply his if none could be achieved. She was again struck by his change in nature, as she had been the previous day, but as she had then, chose not to think about its possible cause.

Robin's plan was met with enthusiasm, and the discussion turned to each person's role in the offence, Djaq and Will both slipped back easily into the planning, and Carter, ever the good solider, was happy with whatever task assigned to him. Only Tuck declined to take part, a declaration which was met with confusion and scepticism from the others.

"The Hospitallers are soldiers as any others on the Crusade," Robin observed, brow furrowed.

"Indeed," Tuck agreed, bowing his head slightly in deference. "I am not opposed to violence, if necessary," he added. "But I feel perhaps I can serve your cause better another way."

"Do enlighten us, then," Djaq spoke up, displeasure clearly written across her face.

"I was my intention to service the populace of the county," Tuck continued temperately. "You have provided the people of Nottinghamshire with food and shelter, enough to feed their bodies, but not perhaps their souls. I suspect that they are lacking….spiritual nourishment."

Robin shrugged and did not seem concerned. "If that is what you wish," he said, "but I need to know that we can rely on you, should the need arise."

"Of course," Tuck answered. "My sword is at your service as well as my cross."

Marian saw Djaq look away, her mouth in a firm line, and Allan roll his eyes.

"So what is my role tomorrow?" she addressed Robin, changing the subject.

"Marian…" he looked at her entreatingly, and she did not like the tone of his voice.

"What?" she asked curtly.

"I was thinking," he began evenly, "that it might not be a good idea for the Sheriff or Gisborne to know that you're alive."

"Oh." Marian was silent for a few more moments, trying to evaluate his full meaning. "I'm not staying behind," she told him firmly, trying to ignore the rest of the gang listening intently.

Robin grimaced. "You're the reason that Shar'mat failed," he tried again. "I just think it is too dangerous…"

"It is dangerous for any one of us," she pointed out, her temper flaring and her face flushing with embarrassment at the presence of the rest of the gang. "The Sheriff hates us all, and would gladly see any one of us dead." Robin looked like he was going to argue further, so Marian cut him off. "I'll go as the Nightwatchman if my identity is the concern." She looked at Allan. "You remember where the costume is hidden?"

"Uhh," Allan looked uncomfortable at having been drawn into the discussion. He shot Robin an uncertain glance and she noticed Robin shake his head almost imperceptivity in reply. "I don't think I altogether exactly….quite remember…"

"Fine," she cut his uncharacteristic stammering off shortly. "Any hood will do to conceal my face." She turned back to Robin. "Satisfied?"

He clearly was not, but nodded his head slowly. "Alright."

* * *

Robin awoke early, but did not immediately rise from his bunk as he was wont to do in recent weeks. Instead, he allowed himself a few minutes to relish Marian's presence beside him. He shifted close to her, his arm tightening slightly around her waist where it had rested as they'd slept. It was almost as if he needed to keep physical contact with her, even at night, lest she slip away from him again.

Marian shifted slightly in her sleep, and Robin smiled, pressing a kiss to the bare skin of her shoulder between her neck and the edge of her tunic. He never thought to be able to do that again, expect in his dreams.

When Allan had returned with Lardner and the message of Marian's survival, Robin hadn't the heart to believe it. He'd prowled around the woods for days after, unwilling to leave Sherwood on the chance that it was true, and they would miss the returning party. And then he had seen her – heavily tanned and a bit fatigued, no doubt from the journey, but unmistakeably his wife.

Robin closed his eyes and inhaled the scent of her hair, wishing, not for the first time, that he could run away with her – find a small cottage where they could live, and raise children and grow old together – where he could spend every morning like they were now, where they could enjoy the solitude and there was no reason to rise until he had made love to her thoroughly. But he knew that was but a foolish dream – the camp was not private, and there were preparations to be made, battles to be fought, and people to save. And if he was completely honest with himself, there was also the thrill of adventure which such a quiet, idealised quiet life could perhaps never satisfy.

But, he considered, as long as Marian was by his side – alive – he could handle anything.

Robin lightly kissed her shoulder again before rolling over and out of their bunk, ready to start the day. It was close to dawn, and they needed to make an early start if they wanted to make it to Nottingham in time for their assault to be covered by the gloom of the early morning. It was perhaps the coldest day they'd had so far, but that was to be expected – it was after all the end of October, Robin reminded himself.

He prodded the others awake, and took the initiative to fix the morning breakfast himself, although technically it was Allan's turn according to the roster Much had devised. But Robin was eager to further prove to Marian how much he had changed – that he had taken into account much of the criticism she had levied against him in the past regarding his treatment of his men.

However Marian didn't seem to notice as he doled out the porridge to his gang. She was awake and upright, but still seated in their bunk, legs hanging over the side but obviously uncomfortable. He didn't fail to notice one hand pressed, palm down, against her side, where her injury had been. Robin spooned some porridge into a bowl and crossed the camp, taking a seat by her side. Marian took the bowl and gave him a bright, but unconvincing, smile.

"Are you alright?" he asked, trying to keep his tone neutral.

Marian smiled again and shrugged, and seemed ready to answer in the affirmative, but something in his expression must have stopped her. She looked down. "I am a little…stiff this morning," she replied quietly so only he could hear. "I think it is the cold weather," she continued. "I knew that…it could give me trouble sometimes." She met his gaze again, determined. "But I am fine."

He did not say anything, for fear it would be the wrong thing, and they would fall into the same arguments as last time she'd lived in the camp. She'd been grieving then, angry with the world and he knew how that affected someone's judgement – he'd seen enough soldiers slaughtered because of it. And Robin had been conscious of her role as spy in the castle and had not wanted to lose that source of intelligence, should it be needed. That avenue was closed to them now, but even so, he did not want to risk what would happen if the Sheriff – or Gisbourne – knew she was alive. Not until they'd had time to prepare, or find a way they could use it to their advantage.

Robin told himself that Marian was as capable as any of his men, and he would gladly put his life in her hands and trust her to equip herself in battle, but that did not decrease the anxiety he felt knowing that every time they went to Nottingham they courted discovery or death.

"I am not staying behind," Marin told him firmly when he did not speak further. "Don't even suggest it."

"Marian…" he began taking her hand. "I wouldn't." He paused momentarily, marshalling his arguments. "You've always said that I should treat you as any other member of the gang – like any other soldier."

Marian nodded. "Yes, and would you order any of them to stay for a mild discomfort?"

"No," Robin admitted. "But I would ask them to use their own judgement as to whether any infliction – even a mild discomfort – may compromise their ability to serve. Sometimes it is better to rest and recover, in order to be capable of fighting another day – particularly when there is no desperate need for more men on the mission."

Marian did not look convinced, glancing around at the others who were preparing for the day's mission, seemingly ignoring the two of them talking. She removed her hand from his and reached for her sword which hung at the end of their bunk, but audibly winced as she moved. She pressed her palm to her side again, looked at her sword and then back at him with a grim expression.

"Don't think this is going to be a regular occurrence," she told him firmly. "It is just for today."

He nodded, relived. "Thank you."

* * *

_Nottingham Town_

It was bitterly cold in Nottingham, and Much cupped his hands together and blew into them to try and keep himself warm. The sun had risen, but it was still low in the sky and was not yet strong enough to dispel the mist that clung to the town. It was a perfect morning to sneak into Nottingham Castle, but they had stopped in the lower town first.

"I wish he'd hurry up," Much grumbled, and stamped his feet to ward off the frost. "What is he doing in there?" Robin had gone into the seamstresses' house to pick up the items they needed for the plan, but was certainly taking his time.

"You know how he is," Allan, leaning against the wall next to him, shrugged. "Probably asking after her mother's cousin's best friend or somethin"

Much grumbled to himself for a few more moments, but stood to attention when Robin emerged from the house with lengths of green fabric in his arms. Much took one roll of fabric from him, and Allan took the other one.

"Alright then," Allan gave them a wink. "Good luck gents." Then he headed off towards the castle to join Will who was presumably already in position. The plan was to assault the castle in groups – that way it would be easier to sneak in than all of them together. Once inside, Much and Robin would search the Sheriff's quarters and safe, Allan and Will the upper levels, and John, Carter and Djaq would attack the strongroom.

Much shifted the heavy material to his side and under one arm so he could match Robin's pace as they headed towards the castle gates. He cleared his throat nervously and said; "So, Marian…"

Robin gave him a look. "What about her."

Much shrugged. "Never expected her to stay behind."

"She told you why," Robin told him, and quickened his pace. "Her injury is acting up. She'll come next time."

Much was sceptical. "Will she?" In his opinion, Marian hadn't appeared very happy at all about being left behind and he wondered what Robin had said to persuade her.

Robin stopped abruptly and turned to Much, giving a sigh of frustration. "Is this really the time to discuss this?" he asked. "We need to focus." Then he resumed his pace. "Yes," he said after a few moments. "She will."

* * *

_Knighton_

Marian had been anxious to return to her home village ever since she'd stepped foot on English soil, so when Tuck had suggested she accompany him to the villagers whilst the others were in Nottingham, she'd suggested they visit Knighton first.

Robin had told her that when he'd first returned from the Holy Land to Locksley, it had been one of the happiest moments of his life. He'd described it as like a drink of cool water after a long trek in the desert. But on sighting her own village, Marian felt no such relief, instead there was a pang of sadness. But of course Locksley village was still full of life, whereas she quickly discovered that the Knighton before her was worlds away from the one she'd left.

With no manor house and no Lord to maintain order and provide security, the village had all but emptied. It pained her to see the abandoned homes and gardens of the people she had once known so well, and wondered what had become of them. Knighton was small in comparison to Locksley or Nottingham town, but it had been her home, and its people had been her charge. She was no longer Marian of Knighton, for Knighton was gone – as dead as her father was.

Marian walked to the edge of town where Knighton Hall had once been. A mere two years had almost erased the estate from existence, and the only indication of the home was parts of the original foundation, now overgrown by grass, weeds and a few wildflowers which had not yet died off for the season. It was life renewing itself, she knew, but it was also a part of herself that had irrevocably slipped away, and her heart ached from the loss of it.

All avenues were closed to her – she could not return to the castle or to Knighton, she had no family elsewhere. Marian had pledged her life to the outlaw's cause, and accepted that the forest would be her home for perhaps many years to come, but the bitter finality of knowing she had nowhere else to go was somewhat disheartening.

Tuck appeared at her side. "You must miss your father."

Tears fell on her cheeks, and she made no effort to wipe them away. Her father had taught her to ride a horse on these grounds, and she could almost still hear his encouraging words, his pride in how quickly she had learnt, his half-hearted calls for her to come inside when she rode past sundown.

"Very much," she answered, unable to express anything further in words. "Do you have a family, Tuck?" she asked after a few moments of silence.

"I did," he told her. "A long time ago."

She did not probe him further, because some things were better left unsaid, and a grief shared was always more comfortable with fewer words. They stood there for some while, neither looking on one another or speaking, but listening to the Autumn wind that ran across the meadow in silent solidarity.

* * *

_Great Hall, Nottingham Castle_

Vaisey sat in his desk in the Great Hall, drafting the formal announcement of the King's capture with glee. It was near perfect – even if he did say so himself – the right mixture of pathos and guilt over poor Richard's situation that the easily-led populace would be lining up to do their patriotic duty and hand over their coins for his ransom. Not that Richard would see a penny of it, of course. Vaisey laughed to himself at the irony that the money meant to be allocated to the ransom fund to secure Richard's release was instead going to fill the coffers of the very people responsible for his capture.

His moment of levity was broken by the doors of the Great Hall being flung open, and Vaisey looked up to see Sir Jasper enter. Jasper strode down the steps with purpose and crossed the empty hall to take a seat opposite Vaisey without waiting for an invitation.

"Sir Jasper." Vaisey forced a toothy smile. "What a pleasant surprise."

"My Lord Sheriff," Jasper nodded. He crossed one leg over the other and then removed his gloves. "I am here to inform you that Prince John has made the announcement in London regarding his brother's capture in Austria. I presume you are also prepared to do so here."

"Of course," Vaisey answered, gesturing to the parchment before him with his quill.

"The Prince also wants your assurance that the announcement will not result in reprisals from outlaws," Jasper continued. "I do believe he is concerned about the incitement of insurrection."

"He need have no concern about that," Vaisey said through gritted teeth, livid that he needed to answer to a trumped-up popinjay like Jasper. "The Hood problem has been contained."

"Yes, so your man has been telling Prince John in London I hear," Jasper continued nonchalantly, brushing an invisible speck of dust off his sleeve. "I understand the Prince is quite impressed by him."

Vaisey wasn't concerned by Jasper's insinuation – he had complete control over Guy. Since killing that twit-willow Marian, Guy had been more malleable than ever, and Vaisey had no concerns about his loyalty. He had nothing else to live for other than what Vaisey could give him.

"I'm sure Gisborne is enjoying London hospitality," Vaiser said with a sardonic smile.

"I'm sure he is, but no doubt you require him to be present for the announcement?" Japser asked. "He is certainly no scholar, but I imagine his presence may….dissuade any adverse reaction from the populace."

"There will be no reaction," Vaisey responded tersely, fed up with Jasper. The man was nothing more than an glorified clerk, in Vaisey's opinion. "Only compliance."

But Jasper only seemed amused. "Well then," he said. "I look forward to your speech."

* * *

_Locksley_

It was mid-morning when they visited Locksley, and Marian was able to see Tuck at work. He was wearing his Hospitaller robes, which naturally drew people to him out of curiosity or respect, while Marian hung back, hood drawn to shadow her eyes, thankful that few seemed to pay attention to her while Tuck was there.

Will had freshly carved a new tag with the Locksley symbol that morning so Tuck could use it to convince the villagers he could be trusted. Marian had argued that her presence should have been sufficient, but Robin had asked her not to reveal herself to anyone just yet, as they could not be sure the information would not lead its way back to Vaisey. She didn't really see the need to conceal her survival from anyone, but Marian was unwilling to start an argument over something so trivial. She_ had_ been prepared to argue over Robin's seeming desire to prevent her from joining the mission, but he had surprisingly relented on first confrontation. Of course, he'd gotten his way in the end, although Marian had to concede the point that the stiffness in her side, most likely brought on by the cold weather, had not been conducive to physical exertion, and it would have been difficult to swing her sword or draw a bow with ease if the situation had warranted it.

It had also given her the opportunity to see the villages again as she had longed to, and Tuck, with his respectful silence, made that easier on her. And yet he came alive when speaking to the villagers, showing them the tag with the Locksley crest, explaining that he had joined Robin Hood, and that he was at their service. There had not been a priest in residence at Locksley for some years, and of course Robin had killed the Canon the previous year. Marian could never forget that, for it had been the same day her father died. It was clear that the people distrusted any men of the cloth, fearing that they may be in the employ of Vaisey and would be all too willing to break the seal of the confessional and betray any information which may be of worth to him. Tuck, it seemed, was very welcome.

Marian slipped away and found herself in the Locksley chapel. She walked down the aisle towards the altar, mirroring the steps she had taken the last time she'd been there, in her almost-wedding to Guy. How much had changed since that day, she reflected.

To the left of the altar, in the back corner of the chapel was the familiar statue of the Virgin Mary, several unlit candles placed around her feet. Marian heard footsteps behind her, and looked back to see Tuck approach. He genuflected to the altar and made the sign of the cross. Then he looked towards the statue in the corner, bowed his head and began speaking so softly Marian almost couldn't hear him. It took her a few second to realise he was reciting the Hail Mary, holding the rosary than hung from his belt. When completed, he looked up again and smiled at her.

"I am not surprised you would take inspiration from our Holy Mother," Tuck said. "She was a woman not unlike yourself, after all."

Marian had thought she was beyond being surprised at Tuck. "Why would you say that?" she asked cautiously.

"What I say is not intended to be blasphemous," he told her genially. "Our Lady was an ordinary woman," he nodded towards the statue. "But very good. And she was given a great burden… but she did not deny it, or shirk from it. She gave all that she had to protect those that she loved, and showed true bravery in the face of hardship. That is why people love her – why they ask for her guidance and protection. As people ask it of you and your friends."

There was a long moment of silence. "Will you do me a favour Tuck?" Marian asked.

"I am at your service, Lady Marian."

She gave him an exasperated look. "Save the preaching for the pulpit."

But Tuck was not offended, and simply gave a low laugh in that strange way of his. "As you wish."

There as a crash behind them, and Marian whipped around to see a woman by the entrance to the chapel, hands over her mouth in shock and a broken bowl of wildflowers at her feet. Marian took no pains to hide her appearance, and instead took a few steps towards the woman.

"My Lady Marian," the woman said, curtseying clumsily. "How can this be?"

"Sarah?" Marian asked, immediately placing the face of her former maid.

"Oh, my Lady," Sarah began to sob. "They said you were dead!"

Marian stepped forward and placed her hands on Sarah's shoulders in comfort. "It's all right," she told her. "I'm alive."

"Oh, praise the Lord," Sarah cried out and embraced Marian tightly. "I lit a candle for you every week, my Lady, and here you have returned!"

Marian smiled into Sarah's embrace, fond memories of those same comforting hands who had nursed her when she had been unwell – it felt like a touch of home. And when she drew back, there were tears in Marian's own eyes.

"Sarah worked for my family," she explained to Tuck.

"It is more than that," Sarah told him eagerly. "The Lady Marian saved my daughter's life!" She recounted the tale briefly, to Marian's discomfort and Tuck's obvious delight.

"Why are you in Locksley?" Marian asked, changing the subject. The last time she had seen Sarah had been in the Pitt Street quarantine.

"I have married Tom the Thatcher," Sarah explained, and Marian congratulated her. "He has provided a good home for me and Jess," she continued, blushing. "And it is easier in Locksley these days," she added.

"What do you mean?" Marian asked, curious.

"Well, Master Guy," Sarah began. "He is away in London now, but when he is here you barely notice it. He collects the Sheriff's taxes but does not demand any other payment or additional work as he used to."

"Does he treat you well?" Marian asked. She knew that Guy had been hard on the people of Locksley in the past, and had the capacity for cruelty, but she had always believed that he had an equal capacity for kindness.

"I would not say that, my Lady," Sarah answered hesitantly. "Not as Master Robin does," she continued firmly. "But he leaves us alone."

Marian was curious as to his change of heart. She had often wondered what had become of Guy, and other than receiving confirmation from Robin that he was alive, hadn't enquired further since the subject had made him so uncomfortable. And yet here was her opportunity for unbiased intelligence. Ignoring Tuck's knowing look, she asked Sarah for more information on what had been happening in Locksley the past year.

* * *

_Bower, Nottingham Castle_

Getting into the castle had been easy – although Allan was more than willing to put that down to his own skill, he had to admit that the security had been rather lax. But then, they had not snuck into the castle or even made their presence known in Nottingham town for some time and perhaps the Sheriff had become complacent.

Allan and Will had worked their way through the rooms on the upper levels and right wing of the castle, until they reached their final destination to search. Although from first glance it looked like the room had already been searched – furniture was overturned and broken, dresses ripped and strewn on the floor, glass and parchment underfoot. There was even an excessive amount of ashes in the fireplace which indicated some of the items had been burnt.

"This was Marian's old room, wasn't it?" Will asked, assessing the room as Allan had done. "Do you think Gisborne did this?"

Allan shrugged, but wouldn't have been surprised is Guy had flown into a rage and destroyed all of Marian's belongings. And yet…that time he'd met him in the forest hunting that pig, Guy had not seemed capable of such action – instead he'd seemed solemn, remorseful. Empty.

"I'm glad Marian isn't here to see this," Will said softly.

"Let's get on with it," Allan suggested. "Remember, grab anything valuable and wait for Robin's signal."

* * *

_Sheriff's Strongroom_

There had been booby-traps on the door, but it appeared the majority of them were obsolete, about which John had mixed feelings. On one hand, the absence of hot lead and dogs meant their task was easier, but it also signified that the Sheriff no longer feared them. John blamed himself for not shaking Robin out of his stupor earlier – they had given the Sheriff an entire year within which to collect unfair taxes from the people of Nottingham, for the most part unbothered by their gang. Oh, they still raided the transports in the forest, but they had not assaulted the castle or the Sheriff directly for some time. It had been a failing.

And yet, for all their failure to properly fleece the Sheriff, there was no evidence of the funds in the strongroom like he had expected.

"There's not much here," Carter commented quietly, echoing John's thoughts and sifting through the small piles coins and valuables. It certainly was not enough to justify the taxes that were being collected.

John grimaced. "Take it anyway," he said, filling his own pack with coins. "Hopefully the others have better luck." He turned to Djaq. "Last time there was a hidden panel."

"I remember," Djaq nodded, and moved to the back of the room, careful to avoid the triggering stones. "Nothing," she said with frustration after carefully examining the wall.

John was bewildered. "So where is it all?"

* * *

_Locksley Church_

Marian had allowed Tuck to speak to Sarah alone to hear her confession, and the pair sat in the first row of pews while she kept watch at the entrance of the church. It did not escape her notice that Sarah kept glancing over at her with happiness and a bit of reverence.

Before long, however, there was movement throughout the village, and Marian saw Thornton exit from Locksley Manor, calling out orders to the servants who scurried to obey.

A black horse rode up to the manor, and a familiar rider dismounted. Marian felt her stomach drop as she saw it was Guy – his hair longer than she remembered, and even from the distance he seemed thinner, almost fragile, although he still cut an imposing figure in black. The last time she had seen him, she had been held in his arms, his sword through her belly. As long as she lived she would never forget his face in that moment, his expression of bitter rage and disbelief fading into shock as he'd realised what he'd done. Nor would she forget the pain of his sword slide through her, the breath forced from her lungs and the darkness which had followed.

Marian took a few steps forward towards Guy's direction, but soon found herself halted by Tuck. 'My Lady, do not," he said, holding her back.

"Let me go, Tuck," she demanded. "I wish to speak to him."

"Is that all?" Tuck asked, and looked pointedly down to her side. Marian followed his gaze and saw that one hand was resting on her scabbard and the other on the handle of her sword, ready to be drawn. She released them both immediately with shock.

"Come," Tuck told her, tugging on her arm as Guy disappeared inside Locksley Manor. "We must go before we are noticed."

They ran to the edge of Sherwood and slowed to a brisk walk as they disappeared into the trees, confidant they had not been seen. Marian fumed inwardly on the way back to camp, until she could no longer contain her annoyance.

"What do you think you were doing?" she asked Tuck shortly, refusing to look at him as they walked. "You had no right to stop me."

"Forgive me, my Lady," Tuck answered in that infuriatingly calm tone of his. "You appeared to be drawing your weapon, and I thought it best to prevent any action you would later come to regret."

"I certainly wasn't going to try to fight him," she replied dismissively. "I wished to speak to him. If I was reaching for my sword…well, it was a defensive act, only."

"It is natural, Marian," Tuck continued calmly, hands still on her arms holding her back. "To be angry, to react instinctively on seeing the man who tried to kill you."

"I am not angry with him," she insisted.

"And yet without thinking, your reaction is to confront him…whether physically or not," he cut off her unspoken objection. "My Lady, I do not pretend to understand the situation fully, but from what I do know, you tried to reach out to this man – you had a level of trust and expectation for him. And you are disappointed and angry that he breached that trust and did not meet those expectations. The Bible speaks of an eye for an eye, and that is an instinctive reaction, one you could not prevent yourself from feeling."

Marian did not answer, but contemplated inwardly. That was the core of it, she realised, for Guy had professed to love her, had claimed to want to protect her, and his actions felt like the deepest kind of betrayal. Of course she knew that Guy had killed men in cold blood before, had committed unspeakable crimes, and yet she had never expected him to turn into that man against _her_. She had cared about him, tried to encourage the goodness in him, and he instead had chosen the Sheriff – had chosen the way of hate and anger. Marian was well aware in her own culpability, that she had deliberately taunted him with her love for Robin to distract and break him, but she had not expected him to take such a drastic leap backwards and physically lash out at her.

The truth was, he had disappointed her. The truth was – she _was_ angry with him, bitterly so. What concerned her was that she simply didn't know what to do about it.

* * *

_Sheriff's Quarters, Nottingham Castle_

Robin searched through the contents of the Sheriff's private safe, disappointment lacing through him. There were some papers and coins which he pocketed, but nothing like he had expected. He had assumed that the Sheriff would have acquired more of a hoard whilst they had been less than active, but there was little of importance to be taken.

"Anything in the desk, Much?"

Much looked up from the ransacked drawers and shook his head with regret. "I don't understand it."

"It may all be in the strongroom," Robin suggested. "We don't have time to think about that now, let's get our signal ready."

Much smiled back at him, once again exuberant, and walked over to the open window. There he fixed the short end of the rolled-up fabric they had acquired in town to the window so that when unrolled and released, it would form a banner which would be visible for miles around.

"Once they see these they'll know we're here," Much reminded him. "We'll have a time getting out."

"I know," Robin nodded. "It'll be alright Much, we still have the element of surprise," he continued with confidence. He poked his head out the window and to the left, whistling in the signal they had decided upon. After a few moments Will's head poked out of the window of the rooms down the hall, parallel to the Sheriff's. He whistled in return and nodded that they were ready.

Robin waved his hand to signal Will to proceed. "Now!" he told Much, and they both pushed the fabric out of the window, where is cascaded down beautifully to cover the length of the castle wall. He allowed himself another look out the window to see an identical banner now hanging down from the room Will and Allan had searched. But he also saw the guards below looking up and pointing.

"Time to go," he urged Much, and they both ran from the room to meet up with the rest of the gang in the courtyard as planned. Robin felt giddy – the pure joy of the raid, the danger, the success all coming back to him like an old friend – he was finally himself again.

* * *

_Great Hall_

Vaisey was unwilling to waste anymore wine on Sir Jasper, but the man simply refused to leave. He really was the most vile leech, and Vaisey usually found such a person useful, but when he was the one being sucked dry his tolerance tended to wane. If Jasper did not have the ear of the Prince and Vaisey's own position had not been so tenuous, despite his success with Richard's capture, he would have dealt with Jasper like he had so many other annoying, trumped-up knights in his time.

He was contemplating risking Prince John's wrath when one of the castle guards burst in through the door of the Hall.

"My Lord Sheriff!" the guard called, out of breath, and Vaisey stood, hearing the sound of clashing swords and yells from the courtyard. "My Lord – it's Robin Hood and his men, they're here!"

"WHAT?!" Vaisey shouted with a mixed rage and disbelief.

Jasper tutted. "Oh, dear."

"Shut up!" Vaisey yelled and ran out of the Hall, following the sounds of the fighting to the outer courtyard. But it was too late, and even as Vaisey bounded down the castle steps shouting orders at his guards, he saw Hood and his gang were already on the other side of the closed portcullis. All of the men, save Robin, wore hoods which concealed their faces, and Vaisey filed that detail away for consideration later. Now, he was too full of rage.

Hood caught sight of him, sheathed his sword and gave a theatrical bow. Then the laughed and turned to follow the rest of his men through the town, disappearing into the crowd. Vaisey barely noticed Jasper appear at his side, and instead demanded answers from the Captain of the Guards who stood nearby.

However, the captain was staring, open-mouthed at the castle behind him. "Answer me, you fool," Vaisey forcefully removed the man's helmet and slapped him across the face. "Don't just stand there."

"It would appear, Vaisey," Jasper spoke up with an obvious sneer. "That you have not contained the Hood problem at all." He pointed back towards the castle where the guard had also been looking, and Vaisey whipped around, fuming.

Hanging from each window of the castle were long banners which reached almost all of the way to the castle steps below – Hood and his men had obviously hung them there before escaping. More troubling, however, in a challenge to his authority and a clear message to the people, was the familiar symbol sewn into the green cloth of each banner and large enough to be seen from the edge of Nottingham Town.

The Locksley crest.

"They've hit you where you live, old boy," Jasper continued with a smirk and he began to put on his gloves. "I must report this to Prince John of course," he added and ordered a servant to prepare his carriage and made ready to return to London.

"The ground beneath you is crumbling, Vaisey," Jasper told him lowly before leaving, as Vaisey seethed inwardly, too angry to speak. "One of you must fall," Jasper continued. "You better make sure it is Hood who takes the tumble."


	16. Chapter 15: Keep Calm and Carry On

**Chapter 15: Keep Calm and Carry On**

* * *

_Outlaw's Camp, Sherwood Forest_

It had been three weeks since Marian, Djaq and Will had returned, and for Much at least, the camp was beginning the feel crowded. Whereas before the camp had been engulfed in an empty silence; now every bunk was filled and the place was bustling with movement and raised voices. That in itself did not bother him, rather Marian's return had reopened wounds he'd long thought healed.

He found that the only thing worse than being around Robin and Marian when they were arguing was being around them when they weren't. At least their bickering when she was in the camp the first time had provided some amusement, except when Marian had taken out some of her frustrations on their crockery. But she'd always apologised to him later and tried to help him repair them, so no lasting damage had been done. The arguing he could handle well enough.

Now that they were reunited and feeling more inclined to one another they had last time, they had become almost unbearable. Not that he begrudged them their happiness – no, he was relieved to see Robin himself again, and Marian seemed to be thriving in the forest, making an effort to become part of the gang that she hadn't made the last time. It was just the way that they went about things – stealing food off one another's plates, sharing kisses they incorrectly assumed were discreet, sparring theatrically over practically anything – it drove him mad. At least Will and Djaq were modest, to the point where an outsider would not guess that they were a couple.

But reserve was not a skill Robin had ever mastered, and Marian seemed to have lost. All too often Marian would announce that she was going to collect some firewood, and then only a few minutes later Robin would make some kind of flimsy excuse, like he was going for target practice. They would both return later, Marian with leaves in her hair and Robin carrying a pitiful bundle of sticks.

Target practice indeed.

It made him lonelier than he had ever felt and eventually, he had to escape. One morning over breakfast, he announced that he was going away for a few days, pack already slung over his shoulder. However, Marian was the only one who seemed interested.

"Where?" she asked, looking up from her porridge.

"It's no use asking Marian, he won't tell anyone," Allan informed her. "Been running off for months, he has, all secret like."

That seemed to pique Marian's curiosity even more. "You'll tell me, won't you Much," she demanded teasingly. "Didn't you say that you would never lie to me?"

"Yes," he agreed slowly. "But, you see…er…" He couldn't come up with anything that would be the truth and still conceal his destination.

"He's going on reconnaissance." Robin spoke up without looking up from his bowl of porridge. "We need information from the nearby counties – Lincolnshire, Warwickshire – Much has been investigating at my request."

"Why didn't you just say that then?" Allan asked, rolling his eyes. "Christ, that's boring," he added in between mouthfuls, earning him a glare from Little John, probably for blaspheming.

Much shrugged, but everyone else seemed to lose interest - everyone expect Marian, who was clearly not fooled and watched him carefully. He took the opportunity to leave the camp as quickly as possible.

* * *

"Reconnaissance?" Marian cornered Robin later in the forest, where he was shooting at rabbits for dinner. "What tripe," she announced. "Where's Much really off to?"

Robin put down his bow, turning to face her and leaning nonchalantly against a nearby tree. "Do you remember Eve?" he asked.

"Eve?" Marian searched her memory. "From Bonchurch?" She furrowed her brow in disquiet. "She was working for the Sheriff."

"She was," Robin smiled. "But she had a change of heart – in Much's direction."

"I see." Marian wondered by she hadn't heard about this before, but she supposed she'd never really taken much of an interest in the personal lives of the outlaws. Since returning she had made a promise to herself change that, and to truly become one of the gang and not be seen as aloof or segregated from them. She tried to be more openly affectionate with Robin, to join in the gang's playful banter, take an interest in their day-to-day duties, to speak up and give opinion freely in planning sessions rather than reserving her counsel for Robin alone, as she had once done.

"Eve had to leave for her own safety," Robin explained. "Much has been visiting her in secret for months."

That didn't seem so shocking, but Much had been clearly unaware of Robin's knowledge of the matter. "How did you know if Much didn't confide in you?" she questioned.

Robin gave her a familiar smirk. "I know what goes on in my own camp, Marian."

"But he didn't tell you," she pressed. "Obviously you don't have a problem with him visiting her," Marian added, still trying to work things out in her head. "Why would he keep it from you?"

The smirk faded and Robin sighed softly, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning back against the tree. "Maybe he thought it would hurt me."

Not for the first time, Marian wondered just what Robin had been like in her absence – from those words she could only assume he'd been in a delicate state, if Much was concerned that the knowledge of his own happiness would affect Robin adversely. But it was _Much_, she considered, maybe he had just been overly cautious.

"Why not just tell him that you knew?" she questioned.

Robin looked down at his feet. "Maybe it did hurt me a little," he said softly.

She couldn't think of anything to say, being so used to Robin deflecting any true emotion with a quip. This new, forthright Robin took some getting used to. All she could do was take his hand in hers reassuringly, and hope that such hurt was behind them.

* * *

_Nottingham Castle_

Djaq worked her way silently through the gathered crowd in the castle courtyard, hood pulled low over her forehead. A few people recognised her with small smiles and nods, but it was not their attention she wished to avoid – the Sheriff and Gisborne stood at the top of the castle steps, flanked by a dozen guards. Djaq saw Will on the other side of the courtyard, similarly hooded, although due to his height he had more difficulty concealing himself than Djaq did. She could tell by his tensed shoulders that he was worried – they'd come to hear the Sheriff's announcement and they had a pretty good idea what it would be.

"…and so," Vaisey was saying with his usual theatricality, "it is my sad duty to inform you that our good and noble King has been captured and is being held hostage in Austria." He paused, clearly expecting a gasp of shock from the crowd. But he was disappointed, as he was met only by silence.

Vaisey cleared his throat and looked at Gisborne, but he seemed similarly surprised and unable to offer an explanation. "What, no tears of sorrow, no wails or prayers for our poor King?" his mocking word echoed off the stone walls and was met with no reaction.

The Sheriff narrowed his eyes, clearly displeased with the lack of reaction. Djaq smiled at his irritation and knew he must be questioning the reasons why. Thanks to the information she and Marian had been able to provide, the gang had been prepared for this very announcement. Their forest network had worked well – they'd met with their closes allies in each village and throughout Sherwood, informing them of the King's capture and assuring them that Robin Hood would ensure that they were fed and protected. Each messenger in turn had informed others until the news had spread throughout Nottinghamshire, depriving Vaisey of the grandeur of his announcement.

Vaisey audibly let out a breath that sounded like a hiss. "This is treasonous," he barked petulantly. "I should have you all arrested for your lack of loyalty to our dear sovereign," he threatened. Djaq knew that it was not an empty threat – for all Vaisey would in truth love for the people to lose faith in Richard and exploit that sentiment, he could likely tell that was not the case.

"Long live King Richard!" a strong, clear voice called out from the crowd. Djaq didn't need to turn her head to know that it had been Will. "Long Live King Richard!" he called out again, and the third time the rest of the crowd began to join in the chant. Every repeat of it infuriated Vaisey further, for he could do nothing against such a reaction – he could not openly punish the people wishing their sovereign long life, especially after his announcement.

Djaq smiled with relief and a bit of amusement at the Sheriff's displeasure, although she could not bring herself to join in with the crowd and say the words.

* * *

_Great Hall_

Guy sat in the Great Hall and watched Vaisey pace back and forth, clearly seething with rage. His speech in the village had not gone well, and was clearly at a loss to explain why.

"Perhaps they do not care," Guy suggested. "The peasants do not have mind for politics, and Richard has been gone for many years."

"They should have at least cared about the raise in taxes to pay his ransom!" Vaisey seethed. "But not a gasp of shock among them. This is Hood's doing, I know it!" Vaisey banged his fist down on the table. "He must have gotten the news out first."

"But how?" Guy questioned. "How could he have known about it, let alone get word to the whole county?"

"I don't know _how_, Gisborne," Vaisey practically spat through gritted teeth, "but he's _done_ it. And _we_ need to do something about _him_."

Guy agreed – he'd only just told Prince John in London that Hood was no longer a problem and did not want to be made a liar. It had been enough of a problem that Hood and his men had broken into the castle and hung flags with the Outlaw's crest. True, they hadn't been able to steal much, but after their relative dormancy of the past months it was a clear message, to the people as much as to Vaisey and himself. Guy knew he had to make himself useful to Prince John, who had made it clear that meant continuing to serve Vaisey.

"So we send in tracking dogs to find their camp," Guy suggested. "And if that doesn't work we raze the forest until they are forced out."

Vaisey stopped his pacing and shook his head at Guy mockingly. "Oh, Gisborne," he said with his usual condescension. "Strategy still isn't your strong point is it?"

"Hood has openly challenged our authority," Guy argued, irritated at the Sheriff's tone. "We have to be seen to strike back."

Vaisey tutted him. "You still don't understand these peasants. Hood is inciting rebellion all over the county," he continued, speaking slowly as if to a child. "And when you kill the leader of a movement it only galvanises the forces. Like chopping the head off a hydra only to see three grow in its place. No, no no," Vaisey shook his head. "We need Hood _dead_, but he cannot become a martyr."

Guy quashed his annoyance, reminding himself that he could be patient. "So what are we to do?" he asked.

Vaisey waved a dismissive hand and sunk back into his chair. "Well,_ I_ am going to have to think of something very clever."

* * *

_Locksley Manor_

Marian kept herself to the shadows as she crept around the front of the Manor house, knowing that she was taking a dangerous risk and took care that she should not be seen. She'd convinced Allan to come with her to Locksley, but he had clearly found somewhere else in the darkness to hide so at present, she was alone.

She stopped at the window which looked over on the dining table and fireplace on the ground floor, and peeked inside. Guy sat at the table, leaning back into his chair and staring into the dying fire. The room's only other occupant was Thornton, the old steward, who stood near the centre of the room waiting for instruction.

"Do you know where Robin Hood's camp is?" Guy asked abruptly.

Thornton seemed surprised, but composed himself in an instant. "No, Master Guy," he answered. "Of course not."

"If you did know," Guy pressed him. "Would you tell me?"

"Master Guy, you are the Lord of Locksley, and it is my duty to serve you," Thornton told him evenly. "If you asked me a question and I knew the answer, I would be honour-bound to be truthful."

Guy looked up at the older man. "Even if you knew I would go there and kill Robin."

Thornton looked troubled. "Yes."

"I'm not sure I believe you," Guy countered, but without threat. "You've been steward since Robin was a boy."

Thornton nodded. "And I was steward to Lord Robert before him. I was here when Robin was born and when his mother was taken that same day. I was here when Lord Robert himself passed, Robin only a child and not ready for the burdens of his estate and title. I…I will not deny that I have a great love for him."

"And yet you claim you would betray him?" This time, there was an accusation in Guy's tone. "That you have no loyalty to him?"

"My loyalty must be for this estate and its master," Thornton answered, clearly pained. "My personal feelings cannot matter."

Guy nodded, and from Marian's position she could not tell what his reaction was to Thornton's words. After a few moments he merely asked that his horse be saddled for him promptly in the morning, then exited the room. Thornton looked troubled, but promptly followed him.

Marian waited until they'd had enough time to get up the stairs, then moved away from the window. But she forgot the old floorboard that had always creaked, right in front of the manor entrance. She froze with fear, but heard no sounds from within, and so began to creep down the side of the house to locate Allan. But she'd only taken a few steps before a strong hand grasped her, turning her around, the force of the motion pushing back the hood from her face.

It was Thornton, his mouth a firm line and eyes hard, no doubt thinking he'd caught a thief. But when he saw her face, lit up from the torch he carried in his other hand, he gasped and dropped his grip. "Lady Marian!" Thornton whispered, moving quickly to drop her arm and close the front door behind him. "Is that you?"

Marian cursed herself inwardly. She should have left before they'd finished speaking – she should never have come. "Yes, it's me," she confirmed.

Thornton was very pale. "They said that you were dead, they said…" He stopped himself and looked away. "What are you doing here?"

Marian had been asking herself the same question. "Please, do not tell Guy that I was here," she asked him, ignoring the scene she had just witnessed which indicated that he would make no such promise. "He cannot know that I am alive." She had promised Robin, after all, to wait, and she herself needed time to consider how to go about it.

Thornton studied her for a few moments, clearly cataloguing her different appearance in the light from the torch he was carrying. Since they'd been back in Sherwood, both Marian and Djaq had acquired more appropriate clothes for such a life – trousers, strong calf-length boots, warm woollen tunics (as winter was fast approaching) and of course cloaks with hoods to conceal their identifies if required. Her hair was no longer styled but hung loose about her shoulders, and she knew that her skin was still browned from their long journey from Acre.

"You are with Master Robin," Thornton said finally, and then nodded, smiling. "I am happy for you both." He took a step towards her but maintained a respectful distance, his smile fading slightly. "My Lady, I would never presume to tell you what to do, but please know that Master Guy has been deeply troubled since his return from the Holy Land, and feels a great sorrow regarding your loss."

"Do you know," Marian responded carefully, "that this sorrow is because of his own actions?"

"Yes," Thornton replied, without judgement. "Master Guy has committed grave sins, and perhaps he does not deserve your forgiveness. But that should not prevent you from granting it, if you feel it right."

Marian glanced back towards the window, but the room remained dark and even the soft glow of the embers in the fire were slowly fading. "I've heard that his treatment of the people in Locksley has improved," she said.

"That is true, my Lady," Thornton confirmed. "If you spoke to him, I think you would find him much changed."

"We are all much changed," she observed quietly. "I take it from your talk with Guy inside we shouldn't trust you with any information?" she questioned, a hard edge to her voice.

Thornton looked stricken and slightly guilty. "My Lady, you must understand my position. Of course I want to help Master Robin, but if Master Guy questions me about it, I cannot lie to him. It would be against my honour."

Marian titled her chin. "I believe honour is doing what is right, not what is expected of us."

Thornton looked at her with sad eyes, and she wondered exactly how old he was, for in that moment he seemed tired and ancient. "I do not know about that, My Lady," he answered deferentially, bowing his head. "I only know my place, and my position. That is all I've ever known."

At that moment Allan appeared from whichever hiding spot he'd found. "Are we going to stand out in the cold all night, or what?" he grumbled quietly, pulling his cloak around him. He nodded a greeting to Thornton, but the older man merely grimaced with obvious disapproval.

"I will keep your secret if I can, my Lady," Thornton told her. "I highly doubt that Master Guy would ask such a question." He bowed his head again before disappearing back into the Manor.

"Stuck-up old coot," grumbled Allan. He tugged on Marian's arm. "Quick, let's go," he pulled her down the steps of the Manor and into the forest.

* * *

Marian eyed Allan thoughtfully as they walked back through Sherwood in silence. Her talk with Thornton had unsettled her slightly and so she had remained silent, but Allan also seemed uncharacteristically subdued. In fact, Marian couldn't remember the last time they had properly spoken.

"You've been avoiding me, Allan," she realised.

"What? I came here with ya, didn't I?" he said dismissively, and quickened his pace.

"Under duress," she reminded him. It had taken quite a while to convince him to accompany her, but she knew she needed backup and she didn't think any of the others would be quite so happy with her going to Locksley. Tuck had kept quiet about their earlier visit, and she intended to keep it that way. But Allan had known Guy, in a way that the others hadn't and couldn't understand. Although Marian was sure he would deny it with his dying breath, she knew Allan had seen the potential in Guy that she had. And yet he seemed uncomfortable in her presence.

Marian matched his hurried strides. "You've been acting strangely ever since we got back from the Holy Land," she observed. "Is it Will and Djaq?"

Allan shrugged again and looked cagey. "Why would I have a problem with them?"

"Robin told me that you liked her," she answered simply.

Allan threw his hands up in the air in exasperation. "When are people going to stop bringing that up? Yeah, I like her, we're mates, that's all."

"So it's me then," she pressed him.

Allan pursed his lips and didn't reply. They walked in silence for several minutes, before Allan, without looking at her, spoke up. "It just doesn't seem right," he said, eyes fixed on the treeline ahead. Marian waited patiently for him to continue.

"I mean, I'm glad you're alive Marian, don't get me wrong." He turned to her reassuringly, and he was uncharacteristically serious. "But you've cheated death twice now – not a close shave, not a narrow escape like the rest of us. It was a cheat. You've died twice, and yet here you are." he gestured towards her, and then turned his gaze back to the forest. "Not many people get that chance."

Marian was surprised by his reasoning. She never took him as the suspicious type, and certainly not one to think there was anything sinister about her survival. Which meant that he thought it was unfair that she had survived when so many others they had known had not.

"True," she agreed carefully. "But that's not my fault."

"I know that," he said shortly. "Still doesn't seem right, though."

Marian sighed deeply. "If there's one thing I've learned these past few years, it's that very few things in life are truly right or fair…if anything."

"Know that too," he responded in a clipped voice. "Know that better than anyone."

Marian wasn't sure how to respond, so shelved the conversation for consideration later, and they walked the rest of the way to camp in silence.

However they soon found they were not the only ones recently returned. Much stood by the fire, and next to him stood a tall blonde woman, her hand grasping Much's tightly.

"What's all this then?" Allan asked as they approached, clearly baffled.

"Oh, hello you two," Much addressed them, looking nervous. "This is Eve."

Although she did not precisely remember the face, Marian realised it was the woman from Bonchurch Robin had told her about. She cast a glance to where Robin was seated by the fire, and although outwardly he seemed happy and welcoming, Marian could sense he was out of sorts.

Much, however, continued introductions. "Eve, this is Allan," he told her, but shooed the man away when he went towards them. "Just ignore him," he added lightly. "And you remember Marian?"

Eve's expression shifted only slightly, with a slight twist of her mouth and the hardening of her eyes, but it did not escape Marian's notice. "Of course," Eve nodded to her, although her voice was cold. "Lady Marian."

"You can just call me Marian," she told her, wary of Eve's reaction. But, she supposed, the last time they'd been in contact Marian had dismissed her as a common spy – which she had been at the time, Marian reasoned. She had no need to feel guilty about her past assessment of Eve's character. She had obviously changed, and Marian was happy to accept her.

"Yes, well," Much stammered nervously, picking up on the change in atmosphere. '"Let's get you settled in," he addressed Eve.

"What, she's joining the gang now?" Allan spoke up, clearly put out. "Says who?"

"Says me," Much shot back. "No one objected."

"Do you object, Allan?" Robin spoke up evenly. "Marian?"

Marian shook her head, and Allan pouted.

"I 'spose not," he grumbled. "But still need to be asked, don't we?"

"And you have been," John spoke up, and eyed Allan suspiciously. "You didn't bring back any game."

Allan shrugged. "It's gettin' cold," he covered smoothly. "Not much around." And when everyone went back to work, he caught Marian's eye and gave her a small smile and a nod, and she knew he would keep her confidences.

* * *

Much couldn't remember a time when he had been so happy. He'd gone to visit Eve as planned, telling her the wonderful news of the return of Marian, Djaq and Will, and the addition of Tuck and Carter to their gang. She'd cautiously pointed out that since they had already acquired new gang members, and no longer needed to be concerned about Robin's reaction, there was nothing left to stop them being together properly. Eve's mother had died of a fever a few months previously and she had no other family she needed to care for – except him, she said. Much had enthusiastically agreed, and the two of them had returned to Sherwood as soon as they could gather Eve's belongings.

Everyone had reacted pleasingly, even if Much had borne a few jokes from Allan about Eve, in fact, being real and not a figment of his imagination. There had been a tense moment with Marian, but Much knew that once Eve realised Marian was a kind person and not the woman who'd coldly called him a fool for being taken in by Eve's deception, they could be friends. For his part, Robin had welcomed Eve warmly, giving her a hug and a kiss on the cheek, telling her it was an honour for her to join their gang.

And yet when the rest of the camp had gone to bed – Eve tucked up in Much's own top bunk – Much took a place by Robin, still seated at the fire.

"You knew," Much confirmed. "You knew that I was going to visit Eve. Why didn't you ever say anything?"

Robin shrugged, but there was a tight smile on his face when he looked up. "How could I, when you obviously wanted to keep it a secret."

"I just didn't want to upset you," Much confessed. "With everything that had happened…"

"Much," Robin placed a hand on his shoulder and looked at him intently. "I know it is your nature to put everyone else's needs before your own, and my needs before everyone else's, and I have appreciated that. I have loved you for that. But I can no longer take advantage of your good nature, your kindness, and your love for me." He sighed and turned back to the fire. "You are right - I should have said something, I should have told you to go and bring her here the second I realised where you were going. I was being selfish."

Much was about to deny that, but stopped himself.

"I'll marry you as soon as you like," Robin offered with a smile. "I know we have Tuck now, he's probably more suited, but…I'd like to do it," he added earnestly.

It was the other reason why he could not ask Eve to marry him before – in addition to not wanting to cause Robin further grief by faulting his happiness, Much had desperately wanted his friend to officiate the union between himself and his bride. It wouldn't have felt right, otherwise, and Much could not have asked that of Robin in the state he'd been in. It just might have broken him.

"I would like that, Robin" Much answered, his heart fit to burst, for he knew that the offer was not as a lord to his serf, but as his true friend, comrade and brother. And suddenly the camp did not seem so crowded, but rather as if everything was in the place it was meant to be.


End file.
